Chasing Grindylows
by Firetoflame
Summary: She pens the note on official Ministry letterhead. Remus Lupin, it reads. You are hereby summoned to attend an Auror interview regarding case file number 713, suspect to be named, Sirius Black. You are required to attend promptly at nine o'clock on the morning of Tuesday the twenty-first. Sincerely, Nymphadora Tonks, Auror Department
1. Chapter 1

Celestina Warbeck warbles around the room, shrill notes hanging off the rafters of the dreary Grimmauld Place kitchen.

"How long do we have to listen to this," Sirius groans, topping up his tea with a dreg of fire whiskey. He adds a dollop to Remus' mug for good measure, casting a wary glance in Molly's direction again. She's swaying by the counter, a potato peeler in hand and he's not about to ask any louder for fear of it becoming a projectile.

She has uncannily good aim for a housewife, he thinks . . . or maybe because of it.

He pushes a hand under the loose flop of black hair that has tangled above his brow, slinking dangerously close to his eyes now. Remus meets his gaze without turning his head.

"At least until Arthur gets up and offers her a dance," the weary werewolf says, the rise of the moon outside already calling to him; it will be two days yet.

Remus' voice is raw after a sip of the fire whiskey steeped tea; his tolerance for the stuff is lacking compared to Sirius'. They both glance across the table where Arthur is dismantling what looks to be a Muggle video player of some sort (his face pulled tight in unabashed glee) and frown.

"Not likely," Sirius begins. "Maybe I should charm the wireless."

"To what?" Remus asks, grin crooked. "Spontaneously combust?"

"Now that you mention it," Sirius mutters, twirling his wand around his hand like a drumstick. "I could. Though I was just in it for a change of tune. Weird Sister's or something of the sort, but your idea sounds much more appealing."

There's raw mischief in his eyes now and Remus, grin fading, has startled visions of a frizzy haired Molly pulling chunks of wireless out of her lamb stew. He shakes his head and scoots his chair closer to Sirius, grabbing the fire whiskey. "Have another drink," he says. "Try and drown it out a bit."

"Are you trying to get me drunk, Moony?"

"Is it working?"

Sirius snorts, aiming another fierce look at the wireless. "What do you think?"

Wordlessly, Remus summons another bottle from the shelf: something older, stronger, compliments of the noble and ancient—not to mention dusty—House of Black.

Sirius smiles gratefully and offers his mug to the bottle suspended mid-air, waiting on Remus' wandless instruction. "To good company," he says, raising his mug to Remus'. ". . . with terrible taste in music."

It's to the chorus of _Stir My Cauldron Tonight_ that Moody arrives, interrupting the musical insanity, his peg leg thumping an offbeat rhythm in time with the music. His hacking grumble adds little to the backing vocals that Molly is humming. He pulls a flask off his hip and slurps a heavy swig before dropping a file down on the table between them, a puff of dust escaping the wood grain and settling around their faces.

Sirius waves a hand above his drink, cursing that blasted house elf and his so called cleaning skills. "What's all this, Mad-Eye?"

"New recruit," he says, flicking his wand in the direction of the wireless. Celestina cuts off on a rather ear-shattering note and Remus has never been so glad for the ex-Auror's company. Molly doesn't even look up from the parsnips she's dicing. Arthur however does spare a grateful look in the direction of the wireless.

Moody sits across from them, blue eye spinning towards the back of his head. The sight sends Remus' stomach for a jolt and he pulls his gaze away from the dizzying motion and focuses on his hands clasped firmly around his mug with a tight frown; Alastor's presence usually meant something was up.

"Thought you'd like to take a look," Moody says, waving away Molly's offer of tea.

Sirius flips the file open and whistles. "Well, she's a looker, but—"

Mad-Eye swats the file closed and slides it across the table to Remus, his blue eye piercing Sirius. "Not you, Black. This one's for Lupin."

Remus reopens the file and scans the page. "Nymphadora Tonks?"

"What?" Sirius steals the file back, confirming the name. "Can't be! Mad-Eye you're trying to recruit my baby cousin?"

"Cousin?" Remus says. "You never-"

"Long story," Sirius tells him, releasing the file back to Remus and reading it over his shoulder. "Just more of the blacklisted Black's. Bellatrix's baby sister Andromeda, see, married a Muggle-born named Ted. Nice bloke. Got herself blasted of that wretched tree upstairs for it, though. Shame really, she was one of the only ones I could stand. Last I heard they had a baby girl." He thumps back in his chair.

"She's a talented girl," Moody says. "Whip-smart. Good with a wand."

"Also an Auror," Remus adds, impressed considering she can't be a day over twenty-five. He scans the document, fishing for a birth date. Yep, just as he thought. She's approaching her twenty-fourth birthday. A child by some standards. An adult by others.

"My protégée."

Sirius cocks an eyebrow at the ex-Auror, finding it hard to imagine anyone having the patience to work alongside old Moody with his paranoia and mutterings of _constant vigilance_. "Why don't you just ask her to come along then? If she survived you, she must be Order material."

"The ministry's too infiltrated. Can't really bring up the Order. And I need to test her loyalty before I let her around you lot." Moody points at him. "Especially you, Black. She's been hunting you since her first day on the job with me. I can't very well do a one-eighty on her. She'll think I'm mad."

Sirius smirks. "So what exactly do you expect Moony to do? Trail her around. Take notes?"

Moody grumbles. "Constant vigilance."

"Ah, of course." Sirius pours another glass of whiskey. "Why didn't I think of that?"

Moody stares between them, his eyes finally stopping on Sirius. "I'm too close to it. To her. She's currently working with Kinsley to track your sorry ass down. Unraveling her world within the Ministry could be disastrous for the Order. If she isn't the right cut for us she could take down half the Order with her."

"So you think Moony here has what it takes to drag that Black stubbornness out of her?" Sirius says wistfully, knowing this will be another one of those things he's conveniently left out of for being a convicted murderer.

"He's done a wonder with you."

Sirius points at the old man, but Remus interrupts whatever he's about to say.

"Don't feel left out Sirius. It's really only because I have the least to lose: a dilapidated, underprivileged werewolf between jobs and homes. Who would suspect anything of me?"

"Moony, seriously . . ."

"Just serious fact, Sirius," Remus tries, aiming for some sort of dashed humour.

"Actually, Lupin," Moody says, "it's because you're the only one who won't end strung-up from the rafters in a body-bind curse should you get on her bad side."

Sirius chokes on his drink. "What exactly have you been teaching her?"

Moody just shakes his head. "That's the way she came to me. A firecracker. Don't let the looks fool you. She's one tough pot. Good partner in a jam, too. Long as she can stay grounded long enough, that is."

"Well, Moony," Sirius says, thumping Remus on the back. "Looks like you've got your work cut out for you."

"Indeed," Remus agrees. "Alastor, how do I go about contacting her?"

"Oh, she'll be the one to contact you. Word in the office is you might just have information as to Sirius' whereabouts. Kingsley's going to put her on your case file."


	2. Chapter 2

"Dora, the boss wants a word. Something about Sirius in Albania."

Tonks looks up over her boots―propped on her desk as she teeters in her chair, quill in her mouth―towards the head that appears above her cubicle wall. She grimaces, eyes flaming an angry red. "Call me Dora again, Chavers, and I'll pull your throat out your navel."

The man shifts nervously, hand inching towards his wand. It isn't for nothing either; Tonks prides herself on the varying array of gutting hexes in her arsenal. "Right . . . er, yeah, Tonks. Well, er, Scrimgeor wants a word, yeah . . . like yesterday."

"Fine." She sighs dramatically and hands a file stack his way. "You finish these. I wasn't there when the ghoul stole your pants so that's as far as I got with the incident report."

"She didn't steal my pants," Chavers whines.

For a moment Tonks wonders how someone so petulant made it through training. It's no surprise he's still on desk duty, even though he made the department five years before she'd even applied. Maybe it's the way he smooth talks his way into meetings despite his lack of field expertise or the baby blues he has a tendency of batting unexpectedly. She hates to admit that the department let him in on looks alone but there is really no other skill he possesses that makes him Auror material. A glorified secretary at best; one that should not be allowed out of his cubicle until he's had good and proper training on the right way to remove a ghoul from a public toilet. Not that it's usually a job for an Auror, but when Sirius Black is supposedly hiding out in a skate park toilet, it's vital to be prepared for anything.

She clucks her tongue at him. "Oh, now it's a she, is it?"

"Or he," Chavers says. "Aren't ghouls ambiguous creatures?"

Tonks shrugs. "Just pick a pronoun and stick with it. I'm not doing another write up and you know how Kingsley likes everything in order."

"Yeah, yeah. You know, for a guy with an earring and a bewitched coffee mug, he's a real hard-ass when it comes to the paperwork."

"Don't know. Don't care," Tonks says, smiling at the clock mounted on her wall. "I'm outta here."

"What about Scrimgeor?"

"I'll see him on my way out." She stumbles over the leg of her chair, catching herself on the potted Stringleaf plant by her desk. She wipes the web-like threads from her fingers onto her pants.

"What's your hurry?" Chavers asks, following her along the exterior of the cubicle. "Hot date or something?"

"Yeah, with a Butterbeer and my bathtub."

"Oh, that kind of date." He wiggles his eyebrows and for a moment they remind Tonks of fuzzy caterpillars. She wonders what his reaction would be to her blasting them off his forehead. "My favourite."

"You're not invited," she says instead.

"One day."

"Keep telling yourself that."

"I do."

"Mmm hmm." She grabs her bag, strings it over her shoulder, pockets her wand, and gives her head a shake, settling the unruly pink curls around her head into a more muted set of gentle waves. It was time to see the boss and he wasn't particularly fond of the neon pink.

Thought it made her look like too much of a rebel.

And the Ministry was nothing if not united according to Cornelius Fudge.

She glances at the new memos on her desk regarding Dumbledore and Harry Potter, about their sanity and desire to bring down the Ministry, and that last thought about being united with the Ministry doesn't stick with her as much as it should.

* * *

She finds Kingsley Shacklebot waiting outside Scrimgeor's office when she's done. He hands her a file and says, with his deep timber making her chest rattle even at this distance, "Remus Lupin, known associate of Black's."

"Wotcher," she says. "They were friends in school, yeah?" She knows the story. "He already told us everything he knew."

"He told us everything he thinks we want to know. They questioned him over ten years ago. I want you to have another crack at him."

"Alright, but I'm not making any promises." Tonks scans the photo paper-clipped to the inside sleeve of the file and sighs. "He looks like a dead end."

"Maybe. Or maybe something will come out of this that you were never expecting. You know, flip your life upside down. It's all in how you look at it."

"Hmm," she mumbles, still inspecting the mild-mannered looking man in the photo. She hears Kingsley's footsteps recede, but not before calling, "I expect a full report by the end of next week!"

She catches his brilliant smile as he rounds the corner to the lifts and groans. A full report? With that in mind she heads in the opposite direction, towards the Owlery and pens off a note on official Ministry letterhead.

_Mr. Remus Lupin_, it reads. _You are hereby summoned to attend an Auror interview regarding case file number 713, suspect to be named, Sirius Black. You are required to attend promptly at nine o'clock on the morning of Tuesday the twenty-first._

_Sincerely,_

_Nymphadora Tonks,_

_Auror Department_

She grimaces as she scrawls her full name along the note, but rolls the parchment and ties it to the leg of a tawny barn owl before heading home for the weekend.


	3. Chapter 3

There's a fire crackling in the Grimmauld place library and Remus loosens his collar in an attempt to fight the heat. Sirius has been on a mad spree in his attempts to cheer up his dreary childhood home, and though his attempts are well placed with the arrival of the Weasley's set for the end of the week, Remus thinks the blazing hearth fires at the end of June are a bit much.

He'd much rather Sirius spend his efforts uncharming the main floor toilet so the lid stops slamming down at inopportune times.

Or perhaps deal with that pesky grandfather clock.

He rubs absently at the spot on the back of his head where he was pegged with a rather rusty looking bolt.

"You too," Sirius says, breaking the suffocating spell in the room.

Remus turns to find Sirius leaning against the doorframe, rubbing the back of his own head, and cocks an accusing eyebrow at him.

Sirius simply shrugs, sips the condensing glass of whiskey in his hand, then promptly moves the glass to the back of his head and sighs.

The relief drops him into the nearest armchair and asks, "What's that you got there?"

Remus unfurls the roll of parchment, admiring the loopy, disjointed script. "An interview with your cousin, it appears."

The grin that splits Sirius' face is knowing and taunting all in one and suddenly Remus feels those same boyhood nerves he used to fight in the common room when Sirius suggest he buck up some courage and go snog Eloise Hammle; for the record he never did snog the poor girl. "Oh, you're not gunna get all ploty are you?"

Remus clears his throat and pockets the note. "I haven't the faintest idea what you're talking about."

"You know," Sirius drawls. "Plan. Practice. Rehearse. Research. The same way you go on about everything."

"I do not do that."

"Whatever you say, Professor. Once a prefect, always a prefect." Remus scoffs and Sirius merely smirks into his cup. "Go on then, tell me what you've already found out about her."

* * *

Tuesday morning arrives faster than Tonks imagines. It's not that her weekend was full of anything of great importance, though she feels just as run off her feet.

She whiled away Friday evening at her parents, much to her chagrin, having wished to spend a relaxing evening alone. They were insistent and looked so utterly despondent as she contemplated their faces in her fireplace. _You're_ _our only child, Nymphadora, and you don't even have the decency to owl. We're not getting any younger, you know. Don't you care about us anymore?_ The guilt eventually won out, compacted by the promise of her mother's apple crumble, and she had flooed over.

The rest of her weekend comprised of sharing half a cheese croissant with the pigeons on her kitchen windowsill, catching up with her old Hogwarts friend Amelia (now an accomplished Medi-witch), dodging insistent owls from Kingsley about preparing for the Lupin interview on Tuesday, and actually gathering up her scraps of loose parchment and getting her reports finished before they were considered late and Scrimgeor fired her for tardiness.

By the time she arrived at work on Monday, she was just glad to be coherent for the meetings.

But now it's Tuesday and her file pad of questions for the known werewolf, Remus Lupin, whose whereabouts were technically unknown after a year long stint as a Hogwarts professor, is surprisingly short.

The sorts of questions she figures to ask seem either completely inappropriate coming from an Auror, or so far out in left field that she already forgets what Kingsley had wanted her to find out in the first place.

She arrives three minutes late for the meeting, which is actually quite early by her usual standards.

Remus Lupin is already sitting in the interview room, a shabby tweed coat around his shoulders, his top collar button undone. He's got brown hair, streak liberally with grey by his temples; something about it makes him look distinguished, especially set against the youth she sees in his face. The youth behind the worry lines and history of scars.

His gaze sweeps across the room, forever studying.

With a steadying breath, Tonks pushes inside.

He stands when she enters and watches her deposit her things on the table with what she might guess is quiet amusement. She's not sure though because it's the look in his eyes, blue like the sky at sea, and not the pull of his face that she picks it up from.

"Morning, Mr. Lupin."

"Ms. Tonks," he says reaching out his hand.

She takes it, surprised at the warmth and the gentleness with which he shakes.

She sits quickly, feeling more at ease once she has the table to support her: her sometimes clumsy movements and her less than organized thoughts. She isn't exactly sure what she expected of him, but this seemingly polite, unassuming man isn't it. But maybe she's getting ahead of herself. Letting first impressions guide her instead of taking in the facts. There's some small reminder from her time spent with Moody beeping in the back of her mind. _Facts first, Nymphadora. Won't do us any good to judge_.

Sometimes the darkest of people turned out to be the ones that smiled the most. And sometimes they didn't.

"So, you know why you're here then?" she says and he nods. "This meeting will be recorded. Is that alright?"

"Of course." He adjusts in his chair, shifting his weight and the length of his limbs. He's a tall man. At least a foot on her. But whether it's nerves or comfort that drives him to move she's not yet sure.

She sets her wand between them, gives it a spin, and it hovers an inch off the table, soaking in the quiet moments of pre-conversation.

"Mr. Lupin, under wizarding law you are required to answer truthfully to any and all questions asked of you today."

"I understand."

"Please state your full name for the record."

"Remus John Lupin."

"And your date of birth."

"March 10th, 1960."

"Can you tell me about the night Lily and James Potter were murdered?"

His voice is a register lower when he answers. "What do you want to know?"

"Anything you can remember." The account is almost word for word with what he said ten years earlier. She follows up with the next logical question. "Do you believe Sirius Black to be the reason they were murdered?"

"No."

She pauses then. That was different from last time. "If not him, then who?"

"Another man I once called a friend. A long time ago."

"And his name is?"

"Peter Pettigrew."

Her eyes narrow as she makes a note in the file. "Pettigrew is dead."

"Voldemort was supposed to be dead." He looks across the table to the abandoned Prophet some Ministry official has discarded after their morning coffee. "Some say different now."

This stumps her and for a long moment she's silent. So silent in fact that he asks her a question.

"Do you believe friends can betray friends?"

She licks her lips, eyes stretching up from her notes to meet his. "I think there's right and wrong and that's what we're here to figure out."

Remus smiles to himself. "But that's not what you _believe_." He pulls a paper from his jacket, one of the notices that are constantly flying around the Ministry these days. Dumbledore's picture stares at her. Remus flattens it carefully across the table. "Sometimes the people we put faith in, the one's we trust, turn out to be the ones that hurt us the most."

She swallows. His words burn somewhere in her chest, in the place that tingles when she hears Fudge speak of crimes against the Ministry. When she sees laws passed to infiltrate Hogwarts. When she thinks of a man and a boy who are plastered on the front page of the Prophet with a tale of warning that no one seems to be heeding.

She shakes her head. Why is he asking her these things? How is it he seems to know the way she thinks? The concerns that flit through her mind about her own department.

Why are the Aurors, the ones dedicated to bringing down dark wizards not doing more to investigate the Triwizard tragedy and the claims of Voldemort's return? Is that not their job? How is it that Dumbledore and Harry Potter are the subjects of interest? A man who has dedicated his life to serving the wizarding world, a man who watched her through seven years of schooling, who recommended her to the Auror program. And a boy whose only fault in life was being on the other end of a death curse?

"Are you presently in contact with the known fugitive, Sirius Black?" she asks him bluntly.

Remus does not answer, but draws his lips between his teeth, folding the image of Dumbledore, those blue eyes twinkling up at her over half-moon spectacles, with focused precision.

Her heart skips a beat. His silence is telling.

"Mr. Lupin, do you know the current whereabouts of Sirius Black?"

"I think we're done here." He waves his hand and her wand stops spinning, stops recording.

She expects him to rise, to leave in a hurried rush. He doesn't though, just clenches the fist that still hovers over her wand. "You don't really believe the gossip the Ministry is forcing upon the public?"

"I am a Ministry employee," she feels obligated to say, thought the waver in her voice might betray otherwise.

"But you don't believe it, do you? That a wise old man wishes to succeed the Ministry? That a fifteen year old boy wants anything more than the latest issue of Quidditch Weekly?"

"This isn't about what I believe." She reaches for her wand but his hand beats her there and for a second she's nervous. Not because she's outwanded, two to none, but because he looks at her with such desperation, like he's willing her to say the right thing, that she's suddenly very aware of the sound of her watch, ticking on her wrist, and the creak of the ceiling fan, running on endless magic.

"If you don't believe those things, then you plainly believe the alternative."

_That Voldemort is back_, she thinks.

"It's dangerous being on the outside," Remus says. "Going against the mainstream."

"What are you saying, Mr. Lupin?"

"Nothing, only that someone has to."

"Be on the outside, you mean?"

He nods. She swallows, brow pinched. "I'll take my wand back, Mr. Lupin," she says, carefully, measured, palm up.

He places it in her hand, more gently then she expects, looking slightly apologetic as he ducks his head, the brown fringe falling into his eyes, suddenly cloudy.

"So you've said everything you have to say?"

He looks up at her then, meeting her gaze and there's a twinkle in his eye, one that's challenging her. "Oh, no. I'm not finished."

"But—"

"When you can answer me my question, I'll be back to finish the interview."

"That's not how this works!"

"Good-day, Miss Tonks. It's been a pleasure."

He's out of his chair and through the door before she can protest. Before she even knows what she wants to say next. How one man has the ability to completely unnerve her she doesn't know. Was it the fact he was questioning her? Dragging information out of her the same way she should have been doing to him?

And what exactly had she come up with?

Absolute _bollocks._

* * *

"How'd it go?" Kingsley asks her later when the department has emptied for lunch.

Tonks is busy shooting down the office memos that zoom around the room with a rubber band. More pictures of Dumbledore and Harry Potter flutter to the ground. She furrows her brow in response. "I don't know, actually."

"That well, huh?"

"Mmm." She grabs her mug from her desk and sips her tea, watching the enchanted windows in her cubicle turn from blue to grey as a storm approaches. "I think he's going to be a bit more work than I bargained for."

How is she supposed to do this? Work for people when she no longer shares their views? She watches Kingsley out of the corner of her eye and for some strange reason, she thinks he's smiling. Not his usual shark smile, but that friendly one he reserves for the rare times he offers advice.

It's two days later when Tonks sends Remus Lupin her next owl. It's not written on Ministry letterhead; instead on a square bit of parchment. She requests another meeting, this time at a local café, far away from the prying eyes and ears of the Ministry. A necessary precaution, she thinks.


	4. Chapter 4

Remus is sitting at the rough-edged kitchen table, hand under his chin, reading the only section of the Prophet Sirius managed not to slop coffee on this morning when the owl arrives; it skirts the length of the table, tipping a bowl of walnuts onto the floor.

"Ruddy bird!" Sirius barks.

Mad-Eye and Arthur look up from a set of schematics they dug out of the bowels of the Ministry several nights ago and Molly rushes to vanish the mess with her wand.

Sirius grabs the bird first and unties the letter, eyes dancing over the script on the front of the parchment; some sort of recognition lights up his face as he hands it to Remus. "Another meeting?"

Remus quickly reads it off to the group. She wants to meet with him again. He looks up, surprised to find Mad-Eye smiling when he's finished; it's a little wistful if he cares to admit it and he really doesn't care to because wistful on Mad-Eye makes him look even more deranged than he usually does.

"That's a good sign," Moody says, a stumpy finger tapping his chin. "She's being vigilant, keeping your discussion out of the office. That's exactly what we want."

Remus rolls the parchment under his fingers. He thinks about her. _Nymphadora Tonks_. The bright hair. Inquisitive eyes. So remnant of youth. Of carefree whims. Freedom. But she shoulders the weight of an arduous job with great responsibility.

It's a concept he can't quite wrap his mind around: how someone so seemingly positive is meant to fit into this motley crew of hardened war veterans. But maybe that's exactly what they need: someone who has no trouble seeing the light at the end of the passageway.

Maybe Dumbledore's pointing them all towards a little bit of hope, he wonders suddenly. Someone to lighten up Headquarters. Bring fresh, vibrant ideas to the table in the fight against Voldemort.

The owl squawks, stretching its great wing span across the table and taking a nip out of Remus' hand.

He breaks from his reverie, wincing. Maybe he's thinking too much about this.

* * *

The next day they sit outside on the patio. It's nice, the weather warm, and the coffee mild. He sips his slowly, savouring the bitter taste his meager earnings afford him. Using the mug as a shield, he takes a moment to study her. One of many moments he's already taken.

She's licking whip cream off her lip, smiling at him in a way that paints her cheeks when she realizes she's been caught.

The waitress comes around again, offering a refill. The busty woman puts her hand on Remus' shoulder when she fills his mug. Tonks notices how he visibly stiffens at the contact.

"Alright?" she asks once the waitress has walked off.

He swallows thickly, twisting his mug in his hands. He feels oddly compelled to be honest with her. Maybe it's because he's asking the same thing of her. Maybe it's because he wants her to know exactly what she's getting into before she risks her professional life for the Order. "You've read my file, I presume."

"Yes."

"Then you know what I am."

She offers a nod, though she doesn't see the relevance here, under the blazing sun.

He tries to read her. What the indifference really means, but she just watches him patiently, expectantly and he's compelled to talk again. "People don't usually react as kindly when they figure out _what_ I am."

She quirks her lips then, not quite a frown, not quite pity. "It's not as if you have werewolf tattooed across your forehead," she says and he's surprised at her bluntness. At the way she tosses around the word as if it were not some horrific curse.

"No," he agrees slowly, "but I had my name and picture plastered in the Prophet when I was relieved of my position at Hogwarts. It wasn't all that long ago."

She shrugs a little. "Maybe you've just gotten so used to being judged that you've forgotten what it's like not to. Not all people weigh the consideration of what you become once a month over who you are."

The fact that she doesn't say _what you are_ stirs something in his chest.

"Maybe," he says with a tight smile.

"You know," she dips her finger in the whip cream floating on the top of her drink and slurps it into her mouth, "we're not all ignorant prats at the Ministry. I consider that to be a good thing."

"A very good thing," Remus agrees, though for completely different reasons. "On that note, is there a reason we're meeting here today instead of in an office?"

She traces the rim of her cup with a finger, her eyes following, her touch delicate. "I wanted to ask you what you meant about needing someone on the outside."

"Can you answer my question?"

She looks up. "About what I believe?"

He nods, sips his drink. His eyes never leave hers and she's forced to look at her cup again.

"I . . . I think Dumbledore is a good man. And if he supports Harry than the Ministry ought to as well. And I suppose that means that . . . well . . . I think Voldemort is back and that the Ministry is doing bollocks about it, the Auror department included."

Remus nods and tips his head, assessing. "Would you like to be able to do something about it?"

She looks up from the table and sighs, ruffling the pink curls that frame her heart shaped face. "Yes," she says.

He smiles at her. "I'm going to ask you another question now, but I don't want you to answer. Not right away at least. Meet me here next week, same time."

She nods, leaning forward a little. "What is it?"

His face is stone again, unreadable, but there's conviction in his eyes like she's never seen before. "How much are you willing to sacrifice for the things you believe in?"

He's gone before she can sit back in her chair, a silver sickle beside his mug. She stares at it wondering what it would really mean to turn against everything she's worked for. Was her job worth what it meant to do the right thing?

* * *

"Would you stop pacing," Sirius demands, stabbing his steak with his fork. "Sit down. Eat something. Molly left food before they went to check on the Burrow."

Remus collapses onto the nearest chair, having just given Sirius the complete rundown of his meeting with Nymphadora. "She's brilliant really. Observant."

"Sounds like you have a crush, Moony." Sirius swallows a potato.

"I think you're brilliant and observant as well, Sirius."

"Well now you're just trying to butter me up." He tears a hunk off his steak. "But in all reality did you really expect anything different? I mean, she is a Black. We're all brilliant. Mildly insane some of us, but brilliant." He washes dinner down with a Butterbeer. Remus still hasn't touched his plate. "So," Sirius asks, "when do I get to meet this fabulous cousin of mine?"

Remus plays with his fork. The steak is too well done for his tastes and he's not all that hungry. More anxious than anything, though he can't really say why. He keeps going over the meeting, wondering if he's said the right things, asked her the right questions. He wishes he had stayed just long enough to see her reaction to his last question. To know if she thinks it's worth the risk. He supposes that's it, really. The thing he's really stressing over. What if she decides it isn't. What if this is the last he sees of her. For some reason this makes him most anxious of all.

"I'm seeing her again next week," he answers. "Seven days is a long time to have something of this magnitude weigh on your mind. If she has any doubt at all about where her loyalty lies, she'll know it by then."

"And what do you think?"

"I think she'd make a fine addition to the Order."

Sirius smirks. "You just think she'll know better than me about how to uncharm the main floor toilet."

Remus' laugh relieves a lot of the tension in his chest and he lets himself relax a little. "If that's her only contribution to the Order than it tops everything you've done by far."

Sirius chucks a potato at him. "Sod off, you prat. I'm working on it."


	5. Chapter 5

Exactly one week later Remus is standing in the Grimmauld place kitchen, having lost his seat to the horde of Weasley children now that lunch is upon them.

He grins despite himself, something about it all―the chaotic mess of children, Sirius' carefree laughter, the wail of the ghoul stuck in the top floor toilet, Molly's mad shrieks when Fred Apparates from one end of the room to the other―makes him happier than he's ever been. The fact that these people, for whatever the reason, call him friend and want him around; want him despite the wolf―his help and advice and even on occasion simply his chair―is a true testament to the kind of people fighting for the Order.

"More stew, Remus?" Molly asks, holding up a ladle and snatching the bread basket back from Ron.

He shakes his head. "No, thank you, Molly. I'm fine."

"Far too thin," she mutters before launching across the room to deprive Fred and George of their new invention, the extendable ear, currently strung around a meowing Crookshanks to Hermione's utter horror.

He laughs when Sirius gets involved and the pair of them end-up in a tangled tango of limbs and curses and red cheeks. By the time Arthur arrives to untangle his wife and Sirius, the twins have made themselves scare, Hermione has begun another rant on elf rights, and the cheesecake is burning.

But as proud as Remus is of being a part of the Order again, this seemingly ground-breaking movement, he's happier just to be included in the lively lunch time conversation and occasional practical joke. It's for this reason that he doesn't mind penning off his owl to Nymphadora against the wall, jammed between the kitchen counter and Ginny Weasley who is wisely steering clear of both her brothers and her mother while she finishes her stew.

"Is that for the new recruit?" she asks.

"Yes."

"Is she really an Auror?"

Remus nods. "The last the program has accepted is almost eight years."

Her wide eyes shine. Ginny's always struck him as the kind of witch who is going to do great things. With six brothers she's always ready to prove herself.

He skims the note again, catching the hands on his watch as his eyes move past his wrist.

It's one hour before his scheduled meet up with Nymphadora and he's changing locations. It's last minute, just the way he planned. He has to make sure she won't have Ministry surveillance set up should she be planning on betraying his confidence, though he really hopes she isn't.

When most of the Weasley's have left the room, save for Molly who rushes around, righting chairs and vanishing cutlery, Remus secures an owl and sends him off, up the chimney.

"Another meet-up, Moony?" Sirius asks as Remus stands by the counter, fixing the part in his hair in the reflection on one of Molly's dinner pots. "You sure this isn't becoming like a thing?"

"You know I'm still trying to feel her out." He looks suddenly hopeful. "Today should tell us whether or not she'll join."

"You sure you don't just want to feel her up?"

"Sirius, the children!" Molly scolds, but Ron and Ginny are nowhere to be found when there are potatoes that need peeling for dinner. She drops the basket in front of Sirius instead.

Remus manages not to look embarrassed as he gathers his things from the table.

"Your silence is very telling," Sirius mutters, wincing as he prods himself with the peeler.

"Yes, it means that I've matured marvellously and you are still the same prat that used to charm by bed sheets to strangle me." Remus smiles despite himself. "Will you be okay for a few hours or would you like me to get Ginny to supervise?"

"Oh, go on, you old fart! Say hello to my baby cousin for me."

Remus Disapparates before the potato peelings can hit his chest.

* * *

The directions he's given her are vague, other than warning her that the place is Muggle. Apparition is out.

It forces her onto the subway. Fortunately Remus is familiar with such modes of transportation, and it appears the young Auror is as well.

He watches her from across the car, staring between the Muggles. The tip of her wand peeks from her boot. She gazes out the window, eyes glazed with the hue of passing brick.

The car stops in downtown London, a busy place full of tourists and shoppers and kids half his age with wild colored hair. Nymphadora weaves through the crowd, even more at home here that he. Maybe it's the easy way she blends. Where her pink hair makes her stand out in the wizarding world, here, in Muggle London she fits.

She's comfortable out here.

It's something they share in common. Here his shabby coat and worn shoes don't speak of a poverty enforced werewolf. Here his condition doesn't set him apart from the rest of society. But here he isn't who he really is and as tempting as it is to exist in a world where people don't turn away from him in fear or cross the street or drop his purchases to avoid touching his hand―like they'll catch the lycanthropy that diseases his blood―he'd be lying. To live in a world without magic . . . he doesn't think he could.

He sprints up the stairs to keep pace with her, out of the tight underground and into the bleak, rain-threatened day. A flash of pink draws his attention and he hurries across the street to a cobble-paved alley. It's dark, shadowed by old fire escapes lined with cardboard―a homeless haunt.

He draws his wand from the inside pocket of his coat and steps lighter. "Lumos," he whispers, nudging around a green trash bin and suddenly he's pinned, the air slamming out of his chest in a painful rush, that pink head and a pair of bright green eyes very close to his own.

As he's watching her, sucking in the same breath, those vibrant, accusing eyes turn a steely shade of dark grey.

"Why are you following me, Lupin?" she demands, her fist closing around the collar of his shirt, her wand pressed against his throat.

"I had to be sure you weren't going to betray us," he gasps, surprised by her strength, by the threat in her voice.

"Who is this _us_?"

"What have you decided? Is your belief worth the risk?"

"Yes," she breathes, adjusting her wand.

"I was hoping you'd say that," he says, he swallows, her fingers skimming the underside of his chin. "Now tell me, what exactly do you know about the Order of the Phoenix?"

She backs away, wand still drawn but no longer threatening; her eyes pinch and a narrow crease divides her brows, those eyes that were so dangerous moments ago becoming swirly pools of chocolate curiosity. "What are you on about, Lupin?"

* * *

They're standing inside the fenced patio of a local Muggle diner.

"The Cardboard Café?" she asks, one eyebrow raised.

"They have excellent scones. Plus it's quiet. And no one here is going to flinch should we say the word magic." Remus puts his hand on her lower back, opens the door and guides her inside with a gentle push. The gesture stuns Tonks for a moment and she stumbles, but his hand is still on her lower back, steadying her before it drops away.

It's a cute little joint: pastel with flowered wallpaper and rich chocolate smells. There are tables and puffed-up chairs with board games half started or half finished.

Remus stops at a small table with two chairs and a chess board set up between them. He pulls out her chair. Again Tonks stares, startled by the courteous nature that seems to come so easily to him. She's never had a bloke open doors or pull out her chair for her. He waits for her to sit before sitting himself.

"Have you ever played?" he asks.

She smiles, running her hand along the stationary chess pieces and nods. "My father's Muggle born. I'll be black."

A grin pulls at his lips. "How fitting."

They play in silence for ten minutes, twenty maybe; in all honesty Remus loses count. The things he's paying attention to now―her laughs, her sly smiles when she picks up both his rooks in two turns, the way her eye shade changes with her mood―don't help him keep track of the time. They're meant to be reading each other, taking stock of this strange situation if they are to become colleagues, but he finds her company, though silent so far, to be intriguing and he finds himself feeling a tad disappointed when her Queen crosses the threshold of his battle front and she flicks his King over.

But to his surprise she brushes the pieces off the board, turns it around and begins to set them up again. "I'll be white this time."

Remus watches her, mildly amused.

"What?" she says, eyes flicking up to meet his as she assembles her pawns. "Don't tell me your one of those blokes whose never been beaten by a girl before?"

Honestly, he thinks, not for years; decades even now. He realizes that he hasn't played chess with a girl since those rainy afternoons spent in Gryffindor Tower with then, Lily Evans. Now he's sitting in a Muggle diner, playing with a woman who he's really only just met, whose sipping some overly sugary carbonated beverage given to her by one of the baristas that smells highly of vanilla ice cream. There's eight days till the full moon and his senses are already enhanced beyond normal.

He can smell the apple blossoms in her shampoo and the aloe in her hand lotion. And it registers with him that he hasn't been beaten by a girl at all, but by a woman.

"It's been a long time," he tells her, voice suddenly thick. "I'm a bit rusty."

"Since you were beaten by a girl? Or since you've had a decent chess partner?"

He rests his chin on his fist, his fingers reaching up to his temple and he smirks at her. "Both."

"I see." She takes his Knight while he's distracted by her.

He orders a tea and over the next three turns he manages to swipe her Pawns and loose both his Bishops. "Moody failed to mention how astute of a chess player you are."

"Oh, so it was Moody that set this little escapade up. I should have known. Seems the type of thing he would do."

"Retirement doesn't really suit him."

"I should have known he wasn't really taking up Hippogriff Hunting. So . . . the Order of the Phoenix, huh?"

The easy banter between them fades and something more somber joins the conversation: the proverbial elephant in the room so to speak. They can feel the weight of it at the end of every unsaid thing.

Remus licks his lips, and takes a measured breath, preparing for the pinnacle of these meetings, for the moment every good intention and carefully thought out step has built to. "Ms. Tonks―"

"It's just Tonks," she says, eyes set, determined.

"Tonks, the things you think you know about the wizarding world are about to change."

She leans a little closer, depriving him of another Knight. How she's so focused when he can barely keep his thoughts in check he doesn't know. She slides the black Knight off the board, all well her eyes are surely set on his. This must be one of her Auror tricks. "Are you going to tell me about Sirius Black now?"

Remus can't help the small smile that creeps onto his face. "What do you want to know?"

"Everything."

"Well, for starters," Remus says, eyes dropping from her face to the board and back up. He moves his Queen into position. "Check-mate and he's quite excited to meet you, seeing as you are cousins and all."


	6. Chapter 6

Tonks hasn't stopped fidgeting since her meeting with Remus ended in the diner; the swell of nervous anxiety in her chest is starting to get to her. She has two hours before she's meant to meet him again near Grimmauld Street. Two hours until he'll tell her where the Headquarters for the Order of the Phoenix is located.

"More chicken, Dora?" her father asks as she's checking her watch for the sixth time in the last ten minutes. She can see his grey eyes in her peripheral. They narrow, pulling down a wrinkled brow, as he runs a hand over his shaved, balding head.

"No thanks, dad," she says, pushing her plate away. "M'stuffed."

"But you've hardly eaten anything and I know you forget to eat when you're working. And―"

"Ted, stop being such a worry wart. She's fine." Her mother vanishes the chicken and it's replaced with a rhubarb pie. She smiles a warning at her husband, eyes the same colour as her hair; the signature black. Her mother's aged well, Tonks has to admit. And she still wears the prominent Black cheekbones well.

"Am I not allowed to be concerned for my daughter's welfare anymore?" Ted scoops a heaping slice of pie onto his plate before loading Tonks down with her own piece.

"I'm twenty-four, dad." She takes a bite to placate him, chews hastily and swallows. "And an Auror."

"You're twenty three for another nine weeks. And it wasn't that long ago that we were tucking you into bed still."

"Oh please, dad, don't do this."

Andromeda Tonks shakes her head fondly. "You know he always gets a little sappy around his birthday, darling. Just ignore him like I do."

"Now don't do that," Ted protests.

Tonks swallows her last bite of pie, packing too much food into her stomach again; the same way she always does when she comes home. Her parents actually believe she is too inept to feed herself. For some reason her clumsiness is translated into the fact that she can't cook, which is utter rubbish. She's a potions whiz and give or take a few ingredients, cooking is essentially the same thing. She stands and leans across the table to give her father a kiss on the head before heading to the fireplace.

"Leaving already?" he asks.

"I've got work."

"You work too hard, Dora. Tell that Scrimgeor fellow to give you some time off now and then. And don't forget to visit. And―"

"Bloody hell, Ted. Leave the poor girl alone." Andromeda sweeps from the room after Tonks, pausing by the fire. "I love you, darling. Be safe. And do visit. You're father's getting senile in his old age."

"Mum . . ." For a second she wants to ask her about Sirius, but she can't do that without outing the entire operation. What little she knows of her cousin comes from foggy childhood memories of photos of a lanky boy with too much hair.

"Yes, darling?"

"I'll visit," she says instead.

Her mum cups her face, thumb brushing over her cheek. "I know. Now go, keep the wizarding world safe."

With a flash of green and a puff of tasteless smoke, Tonks is whisked away to her own flat. She stumbles out of the fire and looks around. She's given up figuring out what tonight will be like and settles on contemplating what she should wear to her first official meeting instead.

She skims through her closet.

Weird Sister's tee _or Weird Sister's tee._

Apparently it won't be much of a decision after all.

* * *

She Apparates into the alley he's described, stumbling over a loose stone and grabbing the side of the faded brick building.

He's standing there, hands in his pockets, that mange of brown hair tousling over his eyes.

"Wotcher, Remus," she says, righting herself and pocketing her wand. She doesn't think she needs it here. At least, she feels like she doesn't. Not with him. And she hopes those instincts are sound. _Constant vigilance_, she hears in the back of her head, before remembering that Moody was in on this business and if he trusted Remus than she had every reason to as well.

"Evening, Nymphadora."

She winces. "Just Tonks, Remus. The first names a bit of a mouthful."

She follows him out of the alley.

"It's a lovely name," he says, and to her surprise he sounds genuine.

"Please, even my fool of a mother couldn't convince me of that and she offered me sweets."

"She bribed you with candy to call you by your first name?" he asks incredulously, his brow arching in amusement.

"Don't look at me like that."

"Like what?"

"Like you think I was some horrible child. I was quite pleasant I'll have you know."

"So what about the sweets then?"

"There might have been a phase or two."

"Do I even want to know?"

"Let's just say I was a quick study and my hexes were quite good at nine years old using my dad's old wand." He smirks at her and she says, "I had a penchant for frogs."

"You didn't." His jaw hangs loose, the disbelief evident in the lines that crinkle around his eyes.

"I did. Kept little Philip Tiberts in a tank under my bed for a week. Mum had a fit. Dad laughed, then got rather stern when my mum yelled at him, then laughed again."

"And the boy?"

"Oh, he was fine. Mum obliviated his memory. His family's. Right as rain the next day."

"So your mother paid you off in sweets because you turned a boy into a frog?"

"I turned him into a frog because he used to tease me about my name." Remus nods in understanding. "By the time I went to Hogwarts everyone knew me as Tonks. Only mum gets away with calling me," she shudders, "Nymphadora. Says she's entitled since she birthed me and everything."

"Well, remind me not to get on your bad side. I don't fancy a week as a frog."

"Oh, I don't do frogs anymore. That's child's play." Her eyes flash something that Remus might have found rather threatening if she hadn't been smiling. Still, he's not sure if he should laugh or not; there's something faintly Marauder-esque about her.

He stops half way down the street and pulls a note from his pocket, contemplating this.

"Read this," he says, holding it out to her. She does and he lights the script on fire, turning the words _12 Grimmauld Place_ to ash. "This is the Headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix."

She looks up at him under a fringe of pink hair. "Hate to break it to you, Remus, but there's no building here between eleven and thirteen."

He's pulling his wand from his coat, purposely oblivious to her cause for uncertainty. "Think hard on it a moment."

She huffs, closing her eyes for good measure, and thinks about what he's just shown her. There's a swirl of air around her feet, like a swift wind has just picked up, and she sways on the spot again. When she opens her eyes there's a towering brick house before her, complete with a porch with black wiry handrails and a serpent door knocker.

"Brilliant," she says, tugging on his arm so he'll look.

It's something he's seen many times before. The sudden appearance of an entire house between numbers eleven and thirteen no longer amuses him the way it should. But he can't help the smile that threatens his lips when he looks at her face and he's forced to bite down on his cheek. She's grinning, kind of like the twins when they've gotten loose in Zonko's, Remus thinks, and her hand wraps around his wrist, dragging him up the front steps to the door. "How Muggle's get on without magic I'll never know," she breathes, touching the door as if to make sure it's real.

He taps the door twice with his wand, pushes it open, and nods his head for her to step inside. With a breath she does, entering into darkness.

The door closes behind her with a pop and she can hear Remus' voice whispering husky charms that seal the door against intruders. It sends a shiver down her spine and she's not really sure why, but then his hand's on her back again, urging her forward just a bit.

"Lumos," he whispers and she can make out an old carven hand rail, a set of narrow stairs and a faintly musky boars head mounted on the wall just to her right.

There's other smells, too. Dust. Old wood. Something like chocolate and peppermint that seems to invade her senses as Remus brushes past her.

"Wait here," he says as a voice cries out in the distance. Another greets it and Tonks wonders who's having a row. A set of thinly veiled curses fly down the hall and the voice nears. "That'll be Sirius," Remus says with a smirk. "Banner first impression."

He disappears down the hall and another set of stairs, leaving her in shrouded darkness. There are people moving around upstairs, she can hear footsteps and muffled voices, and when she looks up between the handrails, she thinks she catches a glimpse of fiery red.

Another sound, like a snorting pig, moves to her left and she whips around, wand drawn, exposing the dark corner with light and she gasps with fright, expecting nothing to really be in the corner except her overactive imagination. But there is something. A small, deranged looking something.

She stumbles back on instinct, flailing, and before it happens she knows it isn't going to end well.

One second she's on her feet, staring down at dimly lit hallway and the most grotesque looking house elf she's ever encountered. And the next she's being catapulted through the air, having caught her foot on a rather gruesome looking umbrella stand. A troll's foot she confirms from her new vantage point as she realizes she's been caught by someone, strong arms wrapping around her middle, holding her just off the ground.

The arms tighten and her stomach lurches as they stand her up again. Her hands automatically grab for the shoulders of the person holding her. She comes face to face with Remus.

"That was lucky," she says, dropping her arms as he does.

Remus nods, a small smile on his lips. "I see you met Kreacher."

"He's a gem," she remarks, resting her hand on her chest where her heart beat is still spinning wildly out of control.

Remus shrugs. "A little batty. Came with the house."

"Filthy Mudblood offspring in my master's house. Poor, poor house. Dirty freak blood. And the werewolf has returned. Terrible. Just terrible." The elf passes between them, muttering and cursing and turning its big bat eyes on them and Remus sighs.

"He takes a little getting used to."

"Don't think I've been called a filthy Mudblood in a while," Tonks says. "It's a nice change of pace."

Remus tips his head slightly, gesturing to the library. "Well on that positive note, Sirius is just through here. Are you ready?"

"As I'll ever be," she says following him into an adjacent room.

* * *

This room is cozier than the front hall, decked up with books and a fire and smells heavily of chocolate and peppermint. Tonks thinks she could melt into one of the overstuffed chairs and read for an entire afternoon.

That is before she comes face to face with her cousin. The man she's been hunting for the better part of three years.

They stare each other down for a long moment and Remus wonders whether it's necessary to cast a shield charm between them. His fingers wrap around his wand.

Tonks tips her head, her eyes narrowing as she takes in her cousin for the first time. The notorious murder. Escaped convicted. Sirius Black. He's all dark hair and high cheek bones, just like the rest of the Black's. It would probably be more unsettling if it wasn't the face her mother wore every day. "You look better," she finally says and he cocks a pointed eyebrow. "Then the pictures, I mean."

Sirius cracks something that looks like it might be a grin, though the fingers of his right hand are perched against his lips. "Yes, well, the shampoo selection in Azkaban leaves a little something to be desired. You can take that back to old Scrimgeor if you like."

"Mum still talks about you. Calls you a crack-pot fool and wonders how you got yourself tangled up in such a mess." She crosses her arms then. "I think you're alright."

Sirius lets out a weighty, dramatic sigh, and pulls her into a one armed hug, ruffling the pink locks on her head. "Well, this calls for drinks then, Cuz. Did ya hear that, Moony?" he tosses over his shoulder, leading Tonks from the room. "She thinks I'm alright!"

"Give it time," Remus says, catching a wry grin from Tonks as she turns to wink at him.

They spend the night acquainting Tonks with the rest of the Order, a good many she knows already from either work or her days at Hogwarts.

She's a quick study of the Order business and has a great deal many things to add to the meeting regarding security of both the prophecy and Harry for the upcoming year.

Alastor and Kingsley are quick to agree with her and the meeting ends on a positive note for the first time in weeks.

Tonks is reacquainted with the Weasley's. She knows Arthur from work, but has come in contact with the family, having been friends with both Bill and Charlie Weasley at school.

Molly greets her like another one of her many children and tries to pawn off another helping of dinner when Tonks has already managed one.

When business dies down, and Order members have come and gone, Tonks is left with Sirius, filling him in on the inner workings of both the hunt for his sorry ass and the Black family drama.

There's a constant supply of fire whiskey, but the grin is rare to leaves Sirius' face, and Remus wonders how one person could really end up being this good for this many people.

"You're alright, Cuz," Sirius is saying by the end of the night, which is really a new morning; his words are slurred and her eyes are glazed. But she's more sober than she appears and after Sirius has passed out on the couch in the corner of the kitchen, Remus walks her out.

He wants to say something, like thank you for being here, or thank you for making my best friend smile like that, or . . . something, but that makes this weightless feeling he has in his chest seem almost temporary and he hopes that she's in this for the long haul. So instead he settles for a simple, "Goodnight."

And when they're both sure no one is looking, she lets go of his arm which she had been using to keep her tipsy self from tipping over, and Apparates off the front step.


	7. Chapter 7

It's three days before Remus sees Nymphadora again. He knows because he's been counting, watching the time tick away on that stupid grandfather clock that is still spitting rusty bolts at stragglers on the stairs; he has the welts to prove it. He doesn't know why he's been counting.

"Wotcher, Remus," she says, standing on her toes, hands tucked into the back pocket of her jeans as she gazes around the sitting room on the second floor landing.

He looks up, abandoning the mouse hole and the sluggish black creature that is trying to escape inside. "Nymphadora," he greets. He wonders if he should reach out and shake her hand; but that feels too formal, and he very much hopes that they can be friends. So he settles on a smile.

She rolls her eyes amicably, biting her lip. "Not this again, Remus. I thought I―"

"There's a ghoul on your shoulder," he says suddenly, one eyebrow pulled up in serious inquiry. "Did you know?"

She laughs, because clearly this is his way of breaking the ice now that she is a full fledge Order member and not the Auror set on pulling strings of memory from his mind, until he isn't joking and she sees the long pale fingers wrap around her arm and the blue jets of fire coming out of her wand are almost enough to sever the candelabra chain hanging overhead as she whirls around to greet the grizzled creature face to face; that is, if it had a face.

When the onslaught of silent, fiery spells ends, the wallpaper is singed and there is a spot on the floor, dangerously close to Remus's feet, that he can see the library through.

"What was that?" he wonders, turning and prodding the smoking cushion on the window seat with his own wand, a wistful smile accompanying the curiosity in his eyes.

Tonks takes a deep breath, pockets her wand, and gives him a helpless, slightly apologetic shrug. "Oh, nothing really. Modified charm. More for show than anything."

"I thought the Ministry frowned upon unlisted spells."

"They also frown upon secret societies bent on undermining their efforts, so I figured I'd go out with a bang."

Remus laughs. "Moody must have had his hands full with you."

"I'm probably ninety percent responsible for his greys."

"You know, Sirius was quite the spell modifier himself at Hogwarts." He looks thoughtful for a moment. "Or good at deciphering what was written on the toilet stalls at least." On that note he smirks at her. "You paid a visit to the upstairs toilets, didn't you?"

"I was having a look around, yeah. For you or Sirius. This house is bloody huge."

There's something doing somersaults in his chest when she says she's been looking for him. _Of course she has, you daft bugger, _he thinks suddenly. You are the resident werewolf, resident keeper of all things Order related. Who else would she be looking for?

He clears his throat, pushing away the strangled thoughts in his brain. "Well I think you just dealt with our resident ghoul problem," he assures her. "Unless of course it's had offspring and then we should probably check the drains as well before someone has their necktie dragged inside."

"Yes, death by ghoul strangulation," she chuckles. "Who needs Voldemort?"

He laughs again, a sudden, happy bark, so alike to the sudden flurry of joy Sirius is known for displaying that the sound takes even Remus by surprise.

She's grinning at him, at the smile that still lights his face and he wonders about that. About how easy it seems to be to smile when she's around.

"Anyway," she says. "I just wanted to thank-you, uh, for the other night. For catching me and all."

"For saving your dignity or your knees?" he asks, fighting the teasing smile.

"Both I guess. Wouldn't be the first time I introduced myself like that. Probably won't be the last, but I appreciate it all the same."

"Well, in that case, should you be within range, my arms are always open."

She tuts good-naturedly. "I would think twice about a promise like that. Might be more than you bargained for with my two left feet."

"Perhaps I should just start charging for my services then."

"A flat rate? Or by the fall?"

"By the fall, I guess. Might be more profitable that way."

"Likely. So what do I owe you then?"

"How about an afternoon of clearing out the third floor bedrooms with me? There's a bad pixie infestation in some of them." For a second he pauses, wondering where this easy banter and sudden assurance has come from. Surely she has to work or meet up with friends. Or just . . . anything besides spending the afternoon with a rundown werewolf, with his sleeves rolled up and a pile of dead Scour Rats at his feet. "That is, of course, unless you're busy." He shakes his hands at her, trying to renege on the offer. "I'm sure you are, it's fine really."

"No, actually," she says, shrugging out of her coat. There's a purple weird sister's tee underneath with a plaid shirt tied off around her waist. Her jeans are faded, but her boots some kind of leather, probably dragon hide, with silver buckles and fashioned iron fang charms that clatter when she walks. "Sounds like my kind of fun."

"Oh, really?"

"Put me to work," she instructs, rolling her own sleeves, her wand clenched between her teeth for the moment. "I do owe you a debt after all. And I always pay my debts."

She pulls a hair tie from her pocket and ties the neon blue strands back away from her face. From her dark eyes and prominent brow. She's got high cheek bones that round out when she laughs and a sharp, cheeky smile. As he watches her, the ends of her hair turn pink, flooding to the roots. It happens so fast that he blinks, twice, and continues to stare.

"Remus?"

"Sorry," he says. "It just happens so fast. It's intriguing really." The words are out of his mouth before he's thought about them―about how they make her sound like some sort of potions experiment―and he blushes, fumbling for an apology. "I meant―"

But she lays a hand on his forearm, pausing his thoughts, his words.

"It's okay. I understood."

"It's only that I didn't mean to suggest that―"

She laughs, the sound light, tinkling. He's forgiven, though he'd had nothing to be forgiven for. "I've been called worse, Remus. Trust me. Intriguing is fine." She squeezes his hand and he lets out a heavy breath. "Now, where do we start?" she asks.

Molly brings sandwiches at some point and now that the sitting room has been divested of the resident creepy crawlies, Tonks and Remus take a break. They are soon joined by an onslaught of Weasley children, red-headed and freckled. They make fast friends with Tonks, especially Ginny, who dictates animals and watches in amazement as the newest Order member uses her uncanny abilities for something a little less serious in the transfiguration department.

Pig snouts have never been such a riot, Remus thinks.

Fred and George seem quite pleased with this new addition to the house as well and even Ron stops the stream of food to his mouth to smile.

The afternoon wears on and soon it's evening.

Suddenly Tonks jumps to her feet, cursing under her breath.

"What is it?"

"Nothing." She smiles. "I just have an early shift tomorrow. Lost track of time here is all. I best be going." She waves to the kids. "I'll be seeing you lot I expect."

"I'll walk you out," Remus offers.

She nods and he follows her to the stairs. They walk side by side.

"The kids speak fondly of you," she says.

"I did quite enjoy my time at Hogwarts," he agrees.

"Would you do it again?"

"Teach? I mean, I don't think the opportunity will ever present itself again."

"This war won't last forever, Remus." And it's the quiet confidence in her voice that shocks him; the confidence that suggests that it is only time that stands in his way and not a matter of what he is. He feels the same swelling in his chest as he opens the door for her.

"Goodnight," he says and she waves before stepping onto the stoop and turning on the spot to Apparate home.


	8. Chapter 8

"Come on, Moony!" Sirius is pleading when Tonks arrives at Headquarters some days later, stumbling into the kitchen and shedding her coat. She's a little early for the meeting; okay, like four hours early, but her shift ended suddenly and the prospect of going home to her muggy flat or coming to Grimmauld for company and Molly's stew was far more tempting.

She throws a curious look in their direction, Remus struggling to keep the smirk off his face as Sirius shakes his pleading fists in front of him.

Beyond the almost-smirk, Remus looks tired, she thinks. A little wearier, his jumper a little shabbier, like it's been run through the wash too many times. Even his hair is in disarray, though she finds that she likes the look on him. The elusive professor, sipping his tea with that ever knowing smile. It's been a full two days since the moon and the dark circles under his eyes tell her he hasn't been sleeping well, but then suddenly he's smiling over at her like she's just made his day and the lines disappear from around his eyes and mouth and he looks ten years younger.

She winks at him, feeling the need to dispel the intensity of his gaze, before she turns her attention to Sirius.

"What are you on about?" she asks, pulling up a chair.

Remus pushes a cup of tea her way and she plops a spoonful of sugar in it, stirs, takes a quick sip, and adds a little more sugar. She thinks she hears him chuckle. "He wants to go for a walk," he tells her, Sirius rolling his eyes at them both.

"A walk?"

Remus nods. "Outside. He's bored. Tired of being cooped up apparently," he says. "Go ahead then," he turns to Sirius, "no one's stopping you."

"You know I can't very well go strutting down the road by myself. That old bird on the end of the street will call animal control again."

_Animal control?_ Tonks looks curiously between them. "Clearly I'm missing something and I'm not entirely sure I want to know."

Remus looks pleasantly surprised when she says this and looks expectantly to Sirius, who gives a vague shrug and a shake of his head. Remus looks at her, head tipped a little. "Didn't your dear cousin tell you he's a dog?"

"He's a what?"

"An Animagus. Mangy black dog. Unregistered."

"You―what . . . a dog?" Tonks blanks, then gapes, and then smiles a little, nudging Sirius' shoulder. "That's brilliant. No wonder we couldn't find you."

Sirius scoffs and transforms, a mangy, overgrown black dog taking his place and Tonks finds herself on the other end of a wagging wet tongue. "Get off me," she squeals, rubbing the slobber from her cheek. "Git. That's disgusting."

He's whining and whimpering then, his head in her lap, yellow eyes wide and puppy-like. Tonks bites her lips and looks away, resisting the urge to pat his head. "That's really unfair."

"Welcome to my world. Though he's much more pleasant in this form," Remus says fondly. "Much harder to say no to as well."

Tonks smirks and looks down at the dog again, eyebrow quirked. "I'll take you outside if you wear a diamond studded collar and if Remus agrees to come."

Sirius turns his scruffy black head and eyes Remus, tongue lollling.

"Very well," he sighs. "But only once around the block."

* * *

They make it once around the block, then twice, Sirius half dragging Tonks by the conjured leash.

Remus slips his arm around hers to keep Sirius from pulling her off her feet.

"This is ridiculous. We should just take him somewhere and let him run," she says, digging her heels into the pavement.

"He might never stop," Remus warns, "though I think I know a place." He cocks his head. "This way."

They end up at a park; Sirius is doing laps across the field.

Tonks sits on the edge of a children's play structure, swinging her feet, Remus just below her, leaning against the edge of a silver slide. "He looks like he's having fun," she says and after a moment, "Must be hard being stuck inside all the time. You know, to have everyone know your face and live in fear of it."

"It's a hard way to live," Remus agrees, watching as her dragon hide boots swing next to him, the leather squeaking with each pass. "But he doesn't exactly make it easy on himself. He's taken a lot of unnecessary risks lately. I thought having the Order at Headquarters might get him to settle down but the longer he's there, with everyone coming and going, the more restless he gets. He wants to see Harry."

"Do you think he'll ever be pardoned? You know, when we get this war sorted out."

Remus shrugs. "I hope so. He's one of the very best people I know. And though Azkaban changed him some, he's still a good man."

Tonks looks on, eyes reflecting something that might be pity, though it's hard to tell because they're flashing a deep gold colour in the light and he's somewhat distracted by it. That and her pink hair again. She sweeps it off her shoulders and he watches as it settles in loose waves on her back. He thinks she catches him staring, but if she does, she doesn't acknowledge it, simply nudges his shoulder with her knee and says, "You give each other such a hard time."

Remus slides over as Sirius comes dashing past, making another round of the park, kicking up mud at them. Tonks squeals, shielding her face and Remus discreetly brushes dirt from her knees, chuckling. "Yes, well, that's what comes of sharing a dormitory with him for seven years."

Tonks lowers her hands slowly, eyes narrowed after Sirius. "So why the dog? This another way he meant to spite his mother?"

"Actually he learned at school, along with James and Peter, so they could accompany me on full moons." He swallows and quietly adds. "So I wouldn't have to be alone during my transformations."

Tonks' eyes widen, reflecting the grey glow of the sky. "He really is a good man."

"The best. Plus he's a lot quieter as a dog."

A malicious smile curls its way onto Tonks' face. "Does this mean I can buy him doggy treats now?"

"I imagine he would appreciate the amusing quality of the gesture."

"Amusing, ha. Just you wait. I've got an entire arsenal of dog jokes I'm just itching to use on him now."

Remus sighs, but can't help the smile that turns his lips. It's the way she's grinning, like she's just been handed the best thing in the world. "You really are his cousin, you know that?"

* * *

When they return to Grimmauld Place, Sirius promptly transforms and passes out on the sofa in the corner of the kitchen, snoring before Tonks has hung up her coat.

Molly's stew is bubbling on the stove, making her stomach grumble, especially after being outside, but for the moment they're alone and she pretends not to notice just how silent the silence really is. Sirius' snoring sounds like thunder and she wonders if Remus can hear the strange pitter patter of her heart.

"Thanks for humoring him. I'm sure you had other things to do today," Remus says. She wonders if he's just trying to fill this curious silence. He starts clearing the table for the meeting and Tonks helps, though she does more scattering of papers than anything and Remus catches her as she tips over a couple chair legs.

Tonks looks at him sidelong, his hands slowly releasing her arms back into her control. "I was supposed to write up an incident report for work but I admit this was much more fun."

"Ah, so you came here and let us corrupt you into neglecting your work duties."

"You'd neglect them too if you had to write about spewing toilets and then . . . you know what, never mind."

"I didn't know Auror's worked in the loo."

Tonks laughs. "Neither did I."

"So do I want to know what happened?"

Her cheeks flush and she grabs at them, hiding the blush that stirs beneath her skin at the memory. "Definitely not."

"Oh, well now I'm curious." He's standing close enough that his arm brushes hers as they lay cutlery out for dinner.

"Well, keep being curious, Remus Lupin, because this incident is completely confidential. Auror business only."

"I bet you'll tell me if I get you drunk enough."

"Fat chance. My tolerance is higher than yours."

"Vertiserum it is then."

She swats him playfully. "You wouldn't."

"Didn't anyone tell you the value of information in this business?"

"I'm keeping my eye on you," she says. "Now that you've revealed all your dirty tricks."

"Please, I'm a Marauder. You haven't heard anything yet."

"Is that so?"

"It is. And I'll have you know that I am an excellent friend and the keeper of many secrets because my friendship is valued so."

"So that's your play," she says, tucking a napkin in beside the fork he's just placed. His fingers brush her hand as he pulls away and they stare at each other.

"What's my play?" he asks, voice breathy, lips twisted. Her eyes dance as she stares at him under long black lashes. They flutter and his heart speeds up.

"Guilting me into it," she answers.

He rocks his head back and forth, contemplating. "Well, is it working?"

She looks almost relieved for a moment, then she laughs boldly. "Not a chance. You'll have to do better than that."

Remus continues placing cutlery. "I'll break you down eventually. The hard ones always crack under the pressure."

"We'll see," Tonks says. "For now what happens in the loo's, stays in the loo's."

"That wouldn't be about the incident report I'm waiting for, would it?" a voice asks.

Tonks looks over her shoulder; Kingsley's just coming down the stairs.

Remus gives him an exaggerated shrug. "I know nothing."

Tonks laughs and winks at him before turning back to Kingsley. "Wouldn't you like to know."


	9. Chapter 9

For the next two days Tonks finds herself on back to back guard duties outside the department of mysteries, taking an extra shift for Hestia.

She's relieving Remus for the second night in a row now, right at the rare hour of 2 AM, and she's discovered that he is much more of a morning person than she is. Maybe it's just because she's been up incredibly early with the Auror department both mornings, hunting down a group of wizards wanted for an attempted break-in at Gringrotts.

When he sees her bustle around the corner, he pulls off the invisibility cloak, but his smile and greeting quickly dissolve into concern when he sees her: eyes blood shot, dark circles highlighting the tops of those Black cheekbones. She can't even manage the energy to morph them away. She yawns as he passes off the cloak to her.

"Nymphadora, I could stay," he offers, not quite releasing the cloak. "You look so tired."

"No. No, it's fine. I'll be fine. Just have to get my second wind." She's lying though. This is her fourth wind and she's scheduled to be back in the office upstairs in five hours for the Auror department.

"Alright," he says, unrelenting, "I know you're tired if you didn't yell at me for calling you Nymphadora."

"Didn't I?" she asks, feeling somewhat scatter-brained. "Oh, well, don't call me Nymphadora then, Remus. You know better."

"Really, Tonks, it's okay. I can stay."

"Hey, I signed the roster. I'll do my duty."

"You're doing everyone's duty lately."

She yawns again, shrugging. "That's called teamwork."

"What time are you scheduled to back be in the Auror department?"

She looks down at her watch, stifling another yawn behind her hand. "At seven."

He looks down at his own watch. "Five hours? And you worked this morning? Did you sleep at all in the past two days?"

"Of course I did. Fudge came into the office to give us all another rousing sermon on the how the Boy Who Lived is infecting our Ministry from the inside and I nodded off in my cubicle for half an hour."

He doesn't play into her humour, but settles her with a look of concern that is somewhat unnerving and has her shifting on her feet. "I'm staying," he says finally. "You can't be the whole Order alone."

"If you'd really rather sit here then go home to a fire and a nice warm bed then that's your prerogative, I guess." He doesn't look dissuaded at all and she sighs. "Really, Remus, it's alright. Go home. Pry Sirius off the kitchen table. We both know he's passed out half-drunk."

He doesn't seem to like the sound of leaving, either because he thinks she's about to fall asleep standing up, or because wrestling a drunken Sirius to bed is worse than guarding a secret door under an invisibility cloak. Still, some instinctual duty to drag Sirius into a prone position to prevent him from choking on his drool outweighs his concern for her sleep depravity, at least, for now, and he digs around in his pocket, pulling out a slab of Honeydukes.

"Here." He presses the bar into her hand with the invisibility cloak. "For your second wind."

* * *

After an uneventful five hours guarding the department of mysteries, she's in the office earlier than normal, but still late enough that no one will suspect that she's been camped out downstairs for a good portion of the night. Hestia relieved her this morning, bringing along coffee and an apology, which Tonks waved away, but she couldn't say no to the coffee, even if it means she'll have a blinding headache later.

Too little sleep and too much caffeine did not make for a fun day with the Auror's.

She slumps back in her chair, feeling crawly and cramped, like she's in need of a good soak in the tub when she spies the empty Honeydukes wrapper, crinkled on her desk. She can still taste the warm toffee on the back of her tongue and it reminds her of Remus. This thought makes her smile as she twirls in her chair, forgetting for a moment about how tired and worn out she is.

She's never had a friend quite like him before; someone who cares about her wellbeing, outside of her parents and some of the Auror staff that is. Not that she needs it. She can stand on her own two feet (most of the time) but she likes that he's been there to catch her lately, in more ways than one. It gives her a kind of comforting reassurance that she never knew she was missing. Having one person that she knows will just be there makes her heart pound.

After another few minutes of aimless daydreaming she flags down one of the errand boys for a copy of the Prophet. As per usual, skimming through the news has become her daily work ritual. As flamboyantly conniving as Rita Skeeter is, her articles usually carry some underling of truth that would help the department keep on top of some of the terrible things about to come to fruition, but seeing as the Ministry is currently headed by a bunch of ding-bats, Tonks uses the information she gathers to help contribute to the Order meetings.

She's humming under her breath, flipping through a section on a stolen shipment of cauldrons, her finger brushing absently over her lips, when a shadow approaches.

"Morning," Chavers says and she marks the spot where she's just finished reading with her finger before looking up.

"Wotcher."

"What's gotten in to you?" He promptly stalks around her cubicle and takes a seat on the edge of her desk. She's manages to slide the confidential files she's been reading out from under him just in time.

"What'd you mean?" she huffs irritably, righting her paperwork and dropping it on the other side of the desk.

"It's the butt crack of dawn."

"So?"

He crosses his arms at her, his baby blue eyes annoyingly piercing. "It's just that you've been awfully smiley lately."

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"Take this morning for instance. You come into the office, forget to threaten to hex me, and now you're humming to yourself."

"That's of no consequence to anything."

"Mmm hmm," he says. "Who is it?"

"Who is what?"

"The guy who's made you so happy."

She sits a little straighter at his accusation, feeling the tingle of confusion in her chest. "There's isn't a guy."

"You're sure?"

"Of course I am." She returns to the Prophet abandoned on her desk, attempting to ignore him but the next article on thinning cauldron bottoms blurs as she blinks away the confusing thoughts swirling in her head and she loses focus. She and Remus are just friends. So there isn't a guy. Is there? She shakes her head at Chavers and says, "You're the one being strange."

"How so?"

"Nosing into my personal affairs."

"I'm not, I'm just stating facts. Something's different about you."

"There's always something different about me." She rolls her eyes for emphasis, starting on the Prophet and landing on his face. "It comes with the territory."

"No, this isn't about being a Metamorphagus."

"You clearly need more to do; talk to Kingsley. And stop over-analyzing what I'm apparently doing or not doing. It's creepy."

"It's being vigilant."

"No, it's being a prat. Now go to work before I do hex you."

"Ah, there she is," Chavers says with an indulgent smirk that makes her want to punch him. "Nice to see you again, Tonks."

She glowers at him as he walks away, chuckling under his breath.

The rest of the day is relatively uneventful after that, comprising of mostly paperwork, which makes it long and tiresome and boring as hell and she has to resort to flicking herself with an elastic band to keep awake. Chavers tries twice more to get her to open up about whatever she's apparently doing on her off time that has her acting so differently and she makes a mental note to threaten him more. She doesn't need him bringing attention to the fact she's engaged in otherwise frowned upon activities outside of work. The Order doesn't need that kind of attention; frankly, neither does she. That's the whole point of a _secret_ society.

By the time her shift is over she's more than ready to head to bed. Heck, she'll even sleep here in the office if she has to, so long as no one talks to her for a good twelve hours. But there's another Order meeting tonight and she shouldn't miss it of she's available. There'll be days when her schedule conflicts and she can't do things for the Order at the expense of her job or her cover will be blown. It's something she's thoroughly discussed with Kingsley and Alastor. The Order needs people on the inside and it's vital that she remains in a position of authority in case something happens to Kingsley.

So she packs up her bag, attempts to morph away the bags she can feel drooping beneath her eyes, and Apparates to Grimmauld Place; she greets the gloomy brownstone with a yawn and knocks on the door.

* * *

She's sitting in the kitchen, collapsed in a chair, fighting the urge to sleep when he comes in. She knows it's Remus and not Sirius because if it were her cousin he'd do something like transform into a dog and lick her face. Remus on the other hand putters around in the kitchen, pulling two mugs off Molly's drying rack.

"How are you?" he asks her, pushing the mug of tea across the table when she's failed to say anything.

She moves her arm off her face, finding him looking at her worriedly.

"I'm fine." She wraps her hands around the tea he's made for her. "Thank you."

"You're not fine."

"Headache is all. But it'll pass. Unless Dung's got another report for us and then I might just die an early death."

Remus doesn't chuckle at her attempt at humour like she expects him to, but for the moment she can't really find it in herself to care because her head is throbbing and it's either about to pop off into orbit or she's about to puke. Either way, she doesn't like the outcome. She presses her hands against her forehead.

Remus moves so quickly that for a moment she thinks he's Apparated, but then he's there, in the chair beside her, his hands gently moving hers out of the way. The pads of his fingers gently press against her temples, rubbing miniscule circles into her skin and his lips move, barely. She can feel his breath on her face. There are no words, just a silent spell, and the feel of hot magic coursing into her head. It's like a hot water bath, warming and settling and after a moment, soothing. She slumps at little in her chair, shoulders falling, glad for the relief.

"Better?" he asks, a crooked smile on his face.

"Much." Her hand folds over one of his, still pressed to her temple, not quite ready to lose the contact. "Where'd you learn that?"

He shrugs. "Just something I picked up on my travels. Handy after a bad transformation."

"You'll have to teach me that one." He smirks and she sighs again I relief. "Or you could just remain glued to my forehead forever."

"Well the company is favourable," he says. "What does it pay?"

"A corn beef sandwich at lunch and the occasional weekend off."

Whistling, Sirius enters the kitchen then, his eyebrows disappearing into his hair as he removes a few Butterbeer's from the ice box. He stops whistling. "Do I even want to know?"

Tonks pulls away and settles back in front of her tea. "Remus was just showing me that he could have had a promising career as a Healer."

"That's our Moony. Forever besting everyone at everything." He waltzes over to them and pushes a couple Butterbeer's across the table.

Remus catches them and offers one to Tonks. She accepts gratefully now that her head has stopped throbbing.

"That's not true," Remus says, pulling the cap of his bottle. He rolls the lid along the table beneath his fingers, eyeing Sirius in challenge. "You did win that one game of exploding snap once."

"The one that set your shorts on fire?"

"Yes. That."

Sirius leans back in his chair and takes a deep swig from his Butterbeer. "Ah, the memories."

"If this is going to get highly personal and involve any kind of nudity, I need something stronger," Tonks says, offering her own bottle up in cheers.

Sirius sits up a little too quickly. "That I can do, little Cuz."

They relocate to the library where the good alcohol is stored in an ancient china hutch. The doors used to slam down on whoever dared open it, but Sirius has since tamed the wild charms and he selects a varied array of bottles that not only make for a very interesting night, but help Tonks lose complete track of time and the last thing she remembers is dissolving into a fit of giggles on the plush couch cushions, Remus by her side and Sirius engaged in some sort of hula dance with an invisible woman.

* * *

She wakes up in the dark, or, almost dark. There's an orange glow from a half dead fire in the far corner of the room and she vaguely wonders if Sirius dancing in a grass skirt was something she imagined. She sits up a little, wiping the drool from her cheek, the sleep from her eyes, and blinks at the unfamiliar surroundings. She assumed she was at home.

But she's not home and for a second she panics, until she hears the quiet stillness of a page being turned in a book. She slides her wand from her pocket and a lamp flicks on. Remus looks up from his book, blinking in the new light.

"Remus?" She looks around. She's still at Grimmauld Place, in the library it seems. Still even has her boots on.

"You fell asleep. I know how much you've been working lately and how tired you've been. I couldn't bring myself to wake you," he says, biting down on his lip. "I hope that's alright."

She nods and flops back down, a hand on her head; she snuggles further into the warm, fur blankets she's covered in. Blankets? They weren't here when she sat down. Did he . . . had he conjured them? Just for her?

"Sirius did say we should do something amusing and draw on your face since you promptly passed out half way through one of his fascinating tales of his female exploits, though I advised him against pissing off an Auror who could turn him into the Ministry."

"Ever the gentleman, you are," she says with as much of a smile as she can conjure through her sleep fog.

"I try," he says, looking out over his hands, fingertips pressed together, book in his lap. He looks rather calm, she thinks. Content even.

Who the hell is content to read at . . . she stares at the deranged looking cuckoo-clock on the wall above her. It's barely five in the morning. "So it's alright that I stay then?" she says.

"You'd be most welcome," Remus says. "Sirius even said something about preparing a room for you upstairs if you're going to be this overworked."

She snorts, a soft sound that ruffles her hair. "You can tell him no thanks. I haven't forgotten what you said about him charming your sheets to strangle you."

"He's grown up some since Hogwarts," Remus defends, but when Tonks catches his eyes they both laugh. "Apparently not enough though," he adds.

She sighs then and closes her eyes again. "Night, Remus." She mumbles. "Or morning. Whichever you prefer." On the off chance she adds, "Thanks for the blankets."

He chuckles low in return, a sound that drags her off to sleep once again. "My pleasure."


	10. Chapter 10

Tonks lies across the bench on the edge of the lake, her boot-clad feet nestled against Remus' thigh. It's been almost a week since her haggard all-nighters and the sun feels positively radiant on her skin. Sirius, transformed into a dog once again, leaps from the end of the dilapidated dock, splashing around in the shallow grey water.

"Must be nice," Tonks says sitting up and shedding her jumper for the grey Weird Sister's tee beneath. She stuffs it behind her head to be able to see Remus better. "This was a nice spot to bring him."

"I've never Apparated side-along with a dog before. I must admit I was rather worried he would splinch himself."

"Would he be stuck as a dog then? Until you got him put back together?"

"Perhaps."

Tonks' grin is positively wicked and Remus forces himself to look away from her before he bursts out laughing. "Whatever you're thinking I can't condone, so don't you dare tell me."

Tonks giggles. "I was only wondering what part of his body he'd be missing if he splinched his tail and transformed back."

"You know, I think James, Sirius and I had a conversation like this once in fifth year."

"And what was the consensus?"

"I don't remember." He looks sidelong at her, his eyes twinkling.

She lets her eyes drift from his face, relaxed under the afternoon sun, and across the water. There's a bridge to their right made of old stone and covered in ivy and a small boat house just to their left, glass windows blown out many storms ago. It's so utterly peaceful, Tonks feels as though she's stepped out of the world and into some sort of children's fantasy. She wonders how Remus came by this place. If it was in his travels or perhaps as a child, after he was bitten and his father moved their little family to avoid detection.

Either way, it's lovely of him to have brought Sirius, even more lovely that he thought to invite her. He certainly didn't have to curtail his plans around her work schedule, but he had, and for that she was glad.

The trees sway overhead, brilliant green leaves turning white under the sun's shadow and she has to squint to make out the birds jumping between branches. She closes her eyes, letting her ears listen and smiles as the music of the trees and the wind and a variety of birds combine in a melodious song.

"It's beautiful here," she says, and though her eyes are still closed, she thinks she hears him smile.

After some time, the sun dips lower in the sky and soon she's baking under the direct gaze, the light no longer diluted by trees but reflected from the water's edge.

"Come," Remus says, prodding her knee and standing, "there's shade down here."

He leads her along the lake edge, below the bridge and down a well-worn path carved out of mud. He stops her with a hand on her shoulder as they round a bank of wildflowers. There's a family of ducks milling about the shallow edges of the lake; tiny yellow balls of new feathered fluff that quack and splash, shaking out their new wings.

He turns and from his pocket offers her half a tea biscuit; together they feed the ducks.

Tonks giggles. There's ducklings standing on her feet, munching on bits of biscuit and after the day spent outside she feels positively giddy, especially when she looks up to find Remus watching her so closely.

Her laugh is contagious and makes him grin. Stupidly. Foolishly. He grins in a way that makes him feel like he might never be able to stop.

"This was fun, Remus. Thank you," she tells him, head turning against her shoulder, eyes dancing sincerely. He's always going out of his way for her. Opening doors. Pulling out chairs. Offering his arm when she stumbles. "I know it was for Sirius' benefit and all, but blokes don't usually do nice things like this with me. So thanks."

"What'd you mean?" he asks, forgetting the ducks quaking expectantly at his feet. "Surely you've gone to feed the ducks before." He's shocked as she shakes her head. "It's a right of childhood passage."

She tucks her empty hands into her back pockets and bites her lip. She's tipping up and down on the balls of her feet. "Most of the blokes that tried to befriend me wanted a little more than friendship and the few times I went down that road, well, let's just say they weren't interested in taking me to see the ducks."

She's not quite looking at him anymore, but just over his shoulder where the lake becomes a silver stream, running down to the sea.

He stares at her perplexed and she sighs. Nothing heavy. Just in acceptance.

"I'm a Metamorphagus, Remus. I can change more than just my hair."

He blushes when the implications of her words dawn on him. First it's with embarrassment and then with some strange protective heat that has his heart thumping in his chest. "Then you are making friends with the entirely wrong sort."

She huffs a laugh. "Obviously."

"I hope you know I would never . . . that I never―" He takes a deep, steadying breath. "I do hope you know that your friendship means a lot to me."

She smiles, her cheeks a bright, rosy pink. "And here I thought you were just partial to witches with pink hair." She winks at him and he laughs, offering his arm.

"Come on; let's go drag Sirius out of the lake."

* * *

They return to Grimmauld Place in the early evening to find that the Order meeting is cancelled on account of Dementors in Little Whinging. Harry has made quite the mess in the eyes of the Ministry and Dumbledore is pulled away with Kingsley and Mad-Eye to help talk some sense into the ding-bats that run the Ministry; Tonks isn't very hopeful, but if anyone is going to convince them it's Dumbledore.

That leaves her with Sirius, Remus and the Weasley's.

Sirius wants to retrieve Harry immediately and begins to make preparations.

"Don't be ridiculous!" Molly shouts at him. "You want to show up in the same place the Ministry is now watching?"

"She's right," Remus says, stopping his escape from the kitchen. "They'll be an investigation into the Dementor sighting."

Sirius throws his hands up. "I don't care. He's my godson and I'm not going to let the Ministry bully him! This is rubbish. He's been stewing in that house since the tournament. Alone. With those ruddy relatives of his."

"Sirius, they're his family."

"No, Remus. We're his family! Voldemort came back, tried to kill him, and the first this Albus does is ship him back to those Muggles."

Tonks stays quiet. She's never met Harry, though she's heard plenty from the various house guests, Remus included, and though Molly's intentions are sound, she feels as though this is a decision for Remus and Sirius to work out, save Dumbledore's advice of course.

She never knew James or Lily Potter, but what she knows of the friendship between the Marauders, she suspects they would be glad to know that Remus and Sirius look out for Harry like a son. At the same time she knows that people do stupid things for the people they love; they take risks and make mistakes, all in the name of protection.

And right now, knowing that Harry is safe, Sirius can't risk exposing himself; but as much as she knows this and she suspects it's what Molly has been trying―and failing―to tell him, she knows Remus understands this simple truth well enough and he might be the only one who can talk sense into Sirius.

"You know it's for the best. Dumbledore has―"

"I don't care what Dumbledore has said. Harry's not a doll, Remus. He's a boy who's seen terrible things and he's not even allowed to see the people who can help him through it."

"I know you're angry―"

"I am bloody well angry!" he shouts.

"Sirius, the children," Molly whispers, having collapsed into a chair sometime during the argument. Ron and Ginny appear in the doorway, Hermione trailing them.

"Well we can't just leave him there," Sirius says, his tone hard, forcing the volume to something not entirely unreasonable or frightening. The restrained power is enough to make Tonks shiver. She clucthes her elbows to her chest, wondering if getting Harry out of that house earlier than planned is now really the best idea. If he's already attracting the attention of the Ministry, they can't very well leave him to fend for himself the rest of the summer.

"How are you even planning to get him here?" Remus asks and Tonks looks up. Sirius' chest is heaving, his fists clenched by his sides.

"I'll take Buckbeak if I have to. He'd probably like to stretch his wings."

"And you'll both be caught. The Ministry will take you in. How exactly does that help Harry?"

"I hate the ruddy Ministry. They can all go and―"

"Sirius!" Molly chastises before he can say something that will offend underage ears.

He sits down in the nearest chair hard enough to break the legs; Tonks is amazed that they don't.

"Someone find Dung then. I'd like a word."

Molly looks up, exchanging a nervous glance with Remus and Tonks. Sirius crosses his arms and stares into the fire; brooding and murderous.

"I'll kill him," he says. "The little git; buggering off during his watch. I'll kill him."

Tonks catches Remus' eye and when he doesn't shrug off Sirius' warning she hopes Mundungus has the common sense to steer clear of Headquarters for a few days.

Sirius kicks another log onto the fire. It spits ashes as him.

Perhaps a few weeks would be best, Tonks thinks.

"Is Harry going to be alright, Mum?" Ginny asks and something about the question coming from her, innocent and soft, her eyes threaded with worry that she shouldn't yet bear, softens everyone's emotions.

"Of course," Molly says. "That boy. Stronger than the whole Ministry put together."

"But he can't really be expelled can he professor?" Hermione is the first to voice a concern about Harry losing his place at school; and if it wasn't for the fact that she's been wondering the same thing, Tonks might have found it ironic.

Remus looks over at the children at the use of his title and forces a smile. "Dumbledore will have it all worked out. You'll see. No use in worrying."

But they do worry: a silent, suffocating worry that makes the dreary Grimmauld Place kitchen stuffier than usual.

With everyone fretting over Harry and how the Ministry is going to react to Dumbledore, the only thing anyone can agree upon is that they should eat something, if only to settle their nerves.

Molly looks completely out of sorts as she sits across from Ron and Ginny, the pair discussing what will happen if Harry is really expelled from Hogwarts. _Where will he live? Will he be allowed to do magic?_

"How about take away," Tonks suggests; it's the first thing she's said in over an hour. She looks around at the blank faces, knowing how overworked Molly must be with all these hungry mouths to feed. _Yes, this is the least she can do_, she decides and stands, slipping her arms into her coat. "I'll go pick it up. Anyone for Chinese?"

The Weasley matriarch looks up, tempted by the offer.

"Seriously, Molly," Tonks says, giving her shoulder a squeeze. "Take a night off. We could all do with one it seems."

"Yes," Sirius interjects standing and rooting through one of the cupboards. He drops a handful of sickles onto the table. "Get some egg rolls. Oh and some of those little fortune cookies. And something spicy for the boys and―"

Tonks pats his arm; he's calmed down some since his outburst and he almost looks civil again expect for the way his shoulders tense. "I'll get the works."

Remus watches from the other side of the table. She gives her affection away so freely and he thinks it's been good for Sirius. Good to have someone that doesn't judge or hold expectation. She just accepts.

Ron and Ginny disappear, shouting orders to Tonks as they return upstairs. A few selections are called down by Fred and George.

As she's making to leave, fumbling in the front hall with that blasted umbrella stand, Remus suddenly breaks from his stupor and comes to his senses, offering to accompany Tonks. Sirius gives him the eye, managing to look appropriately accusing, and Remus says, "She'll need help with the bags, of course."

* * *

He watches her from the corner of his eye: pink hair flamed out under a blue beanie, hands deep in the pockets of her black trench coat, face pensive. He knows she's thinking because she's chewing on her bottom lip. He notices these things about her now; maybe because he's taken to watching her much more closely lately. He doesn't know why.

"D'you think Harry's alright?" she asks after a while.

"Do I think he's okay? Yes." He pauses, filling his lungs and letting the air clear his mind. It doesn't ease the knot in his chest though and he sighs. "Is he content to be stuck with his horrible family while we all tell him to stay put? Definitely not. He's too much like James."

"You care about him," Tonks says, looking over and her gaze feels heavy on him.

Remus nods. "He is a brilliant boy. Strong willed. Brave. Wise beyond his years."

"A true Gryffindor," she says with a laugh.

Remus smiles some and says, "I do regret the years I was unable to know him."

"Some things are out of our control," she tells him, sighing. If it were colder he's sure he'd see a puff of breath escape her mouth. He doesn't expect it; isn't aware of it until it's already happened, but while he's watching her face she reaches out and squeezes his hand. It's soft, gentle, and far more comforting than he's prepared to admit. "You're here for him now; when he's going to need you the most. That's what matters, Remus."

She lets her hand fall away, disappearing back into her pocket, and he believes every word.


	11. Chapter 11

Remus has never heard such silence as he does when the Order gathers to discuss the Harry problem. Sirius has removed himself from the table, seeing as he's been forbidden from leaving with the rest of the guard to retrieve Harry, and is now nursing a rather full glass of fire whiskey: his second in the last hour.

Besides Sirius' occasional slurp and derogatory remark aimed at no one in particular, Remus is sure he can hear a pixie giggle in the rafters and the quiet click of Buckbeak's claws five stories above.

It's maddening, almost. Or at least, it would be, if Tonks hadn't been thinking so hard that her hair morphed in shades of blue. It's a rather good distraction from their lack of suitable plan. Remus is quite fond of the turquoise colour it settles in for a while, thinking that it somehow reminds him of the sea on a warm day.

"We need to get the boy outta there. Sooner rather than later. That's the thick of it." Moody looks around the table, bringing all of the Order's brilliant minds together for this seemingly easy task: secure a fifteen year old boy and bring him to headquarters. "Should be a rather simple task in the scheme of things."

_Simple_, Tonks thinks, noticing suddenly that her hair has turned a rather bright neon purple. She screws up her face and the strands turn pink again. _That_ was simple. Getting Harry out if that house . . . _fat_ _chance_.

When said boy was Harry freaking Potter and half the wizarding world was obsessed with him and the other half had it out for him, the idea of extricating him from a small Muggle town became infinitely harder.

"The question is how," Remus says. His hand makes contact with the table top after every word. His fingers are long, Tonks thinks. Lanky like the rest of him, but not in a gangly way. The long, lithe limbs suit him. His fingers curl into a fist and come to rest beneath his chin. "So we've ruled out the Floo network then."

Arthur nods. "The fireplace isn't very accessible. I also wouldn't advise a run in with the Muggles. Rather unpleasant experience," he says.

"So we need to get them out of the house then," Tonks says.

"You could use the fellyfone."

"Though perhaps it's best someone who knows how to use one makes the call," Molly interjects quietly.

"We can't very well just tell them we're picking him up," Moody says. "I know the type. They'll get defensive. Irrational. More trouble than it's worth."

"How about a letter then, sent by Muggle post? All official like," Tonks says. She chews on her finger nail, thinking hard. The table waits and Remus can almost see the gears turning in her head. "Muggle nuts like them always go for those posh contests. We'll do something fancy like . . . like, uh, best suburban lawn competition. Yeah, that'll do. Tell them they have to go pick up their prize somewhere in the city to get them out of the house long enough for us to grab Harry."

Moody blinks, rubs his chin, considering. Remus thinks it's a fine idea, the best anyone's come up with so far. And after an hour he doubt's anything better is going to come along.

"We'll have to fly," Moody says. "It's the only way. And the boy can hold his own on a broom."

The twins suddenly burst through the closed kitchen door and Remus smirks. Apparently the extendable ears survived Molly's last raid.

"Can we tag along; see there's this cousin of Harry's that we'd really like to pay a visit to?"

"Fred, George, out!" Mrs. Weasley bellows.

They groan in unison. "At least slip him one of these," George says, handing Tonks a butter yellow sweet.

She squints at it, half expecting it to transfigure into something dangerous. "What is it?"

"Canary―"

"Fred! Give that to me!"

"I'm George!" the twin says, swiping the sweet back from Tonks and hiding it in his pocket. "Honestly, woman. And you call yourself our mother."

The room dissolves into quiet laughter and for the first time that day Remus thinks everything is going to turn out okay.

* * *

It takes another three days to put their plan into action, which considering the amount of thought Moody has put into it―lookouts, signals, an advanced guard, alibi's for the Ministry members involved, a back-up safe house should something go wrong, not excluding any of their untimely deaths―is rather good time.

Their biggest hitch is securing enough brooms for the journey.

"I'll show you my broom if you show me yours?"

Remus turns from his position by the back fence in the Grimmauld Place garden to find Tonks eyeing him curiously, broom tossed over her shoulder. It's a newer model, but well worn. "What's that look for?" he asks.

"I don't need to be worried about you falling off do I?" She prods him in the arm. It's gentle and friendly, but Remus feels a flutter in his gut at the contact. "I'm sure I could arrange some sort of permanent sticking charm," she says and he gives her a look that says maybe he's offended by her insinuation that he's a terrible flyer. But she's giving him that hooded-eye, crooked smile that curls one side of her mouth and he can't even keep up the pretense of being mock offended.

He settles on a good-natured sigh because he can already feel his cheeks pulling at a smile to match hers. "You know, if I hadn't been friends with Sirius and James in school I'd probably have to take you up on that offer, but seeing as they dragged me out to the pitch every weekend I'm rather steady on a broom."

"So the mysterious professor is a secret Quidditch fanatic. I never would have guessed."

He ducks his head, playing with the twigs on the end of his broom and she thinks maybe he's blushing a little.

"Well, don't go spreading it around now."

"Of course not," she says "You have a reputation to uphold. Studious and quiet. Not the sort to set out on a rescue mission at all."

"Hey!" he protests. "I'll have you know I'm actually quite daring. My sweater vests and mild-mannered nature are a complete rouse."

She smirks. "I suppose I should have picked up on that, seeing as I am an Auror."

"Well my intention was to throw you off the trail, so I suppose that means I have the advantage this time. But while we are on the topic of flying and falling, I don't have to worry about you, now do I?"

She rolls her eyes. "I'm much more stable on a broom than my feet, you know. I'll be flying circles around you, Lupin."

A bright red spark explodes in the sky. It's distant and faint, but the garden is suddenly a flurry of activity. Dedalus trips over his broom and goes sprawling into Hestia. Sirius stalks back into the house, looking longingly at the sky over his shoulder. Moody is already barking orders and Tonks is sure she's seen Crookshanks disappear beneath the porch steps after a gnome.

"That'll be the signal," Remus says. He takes off into the sky with relative ease, looking at home on the broom, the wind sweeping his hair across his forehead in a way that has Tonks wondering. She isn't sure about what, but it isn't the first time she's given a moment of thought to his tousled locks. He whistles to get her attention, because clearly it's been wandering. "Let's see you put your money where your mouth is, Nymphadora."

* * *

The recovery of Harry from the Dursley's is a success and Tonks manages to break minimal crockery at the house. Dumbledore also manages to clear Harry's name at the Ministry hearing and once he's officially going back to Hogwarts, the tension in Grimmauld Place seems to dissipate, save for Sirius who takes to glowering at the wall at odd hours of the morning with full bottles of fire whiskey.

Between Order meetings, keeping up with the lot of kids (she's been bestowing her knowledge of coveted Dungbomb uses on Ginny) and work, the last few weeks of summer vacation fly by and before she knows it, Tonks is saying goodbye to the kids, hugging Ginny and Hermione twice, promising to write, and looking in the other direction as Fred and George try to sell some Ten Tongue Toffees to a bunch of first years.

"Out of sight, out of mind?" Remus says, laughing as she blatantly turns on the platform, the train whistling plumes of silvery smoke behind her. "Are you trying to avoid bring them in?"

"Fred and George are hardly dark wizards," she jokes. "Though some of their Wizard Wheezes might suggest otherwise.

"Bloody brilliant, those two. Are you sure this isn't a job for an Auror?"

Tonks shrugs, chancing a peak over Remus' shoulder. There are no swollen tongues lolling around the platform yet. "Right now they're just harmless candies, once they eat them it's more of the Magical Reversal Squad's job and once they're on the train I guess it's up to Dumbledore to discipline them. Poor man."

"Should we gather up our charge then and get out of here before some Ministry officials end up on the same platform as Sirius Black?" Remus asks.

"Yes. That's probably a fine idea," she says. Sirius is standing on his hind legs, paws on Harry's shoulders and Molly is chastising him under her breath. "Come on. Let's take him back to Grimmauld before he gives Molly a heart attack."


	12. Chapter 12

September is a busy month by many standards, Tonks decides, both at work and with the Order, sometimes the topic of said work crossing to a boundary that is somewhere between the two; right now said work is named Dolores Jane Umbridge. Or _Toadface_, as Tonks has starting thinking in private.

Just the thought of that ghastly woman sours her face and she has to work twice as hard not to let her hair morph to some ungodly shade of black. If another memo about Educational Decrees crosses her desk, Tonks might just march up to Hogwarts herself and tell Umbridge exactly where to stick it. That will also be the day she hands in her notice for obvious reasons; job security and her duty to the Order are the only things that have refrained her thus far.

"You've gone quiet?"

Tonks pushes the Ministry article across the table, covering the toady smile of the woman currently making life at work and outside of work a pain in her―

"Tonks?"

She turns to Remus, a half-smile on her face. "Just thinking," she says.

"That's all anyone's doing nowadays," Sirius grumps. "Sitting and thinking. Just sitting around and . . ." He snatches the article from the table and his fists curl into the page.

Remus looks across the room, eyes furrowed. His tone is harder than Tonk's has heard it in a while. "Sirius―"

"Well it's true!" Sirius snaps. "If we spent more time actually doing something, then prats like her," he pokes the picture of Umbridge on the nose, "wouldn't be allowed within fifty feet of Hogwarts, never mind children."

"She's taken to picking on Harry," Remus explains in a low, whispered tone as Sirius chucks balled-up pieces of the Prophet across the room at Kreacher. (Thank heavens Herminone's not here to see it.)

"I've heard. Hermione and Ginny told me so in their last letters," Tonks whispers back, charming her mug at the same time. The tea's gone cold while they've been talking. "Moody has me casing her office in the Ministry during my breaks."

"How're you managing that?"

"I just morph to look like someone from maintenance."

"Ah."

They both watch as Sirius makes a fire out of all the loose scraps of parchment on the table and when there's nothing left to burn he storms off, muttering something about feeding Buckbeak. Tonks knows he's just gone to stew some more about Harry and she can't really blame him. They all want to help. It's why Moody has her looking for something they can use, or more importantly, that Dumbledore can use to have _Toadface_ sacked.

"Kingsley's been my cover in the office," she tells Remus. "So far Scrimgeor hasn't said too much but I feel like we're pushing our luck, you know? Someone's bound to catch on."

He nods, looking pensive, face set on his mug. "Have you found anything?"

"Besides enough cat crockery to build a small fortress?" She snorts. "Nope."

Remus leans back in his chair, a hand rubbing the shadow of scruff on his chin. He's looking more and more dishevelled these days. Perhaps it's the moon, just a week past, or perhaps now that Molly and the children are gone he doesn't find the need to be so respectfully presentable. Either way, Tonks likes this sleepy professor look on him; the bed-head hair, the rolled shirt sleeves. She does wish he would get some more sleep though. He's been pulling late nights these past few days, gathering information on Robards, a known Death Eater they suspect to be recruiting through the Ministry.

She stops her appraisal when he looks up from his mug, finding her eyes.

"Dolores is the mastermind behind some of the more recent anti-werewolf legislation," he says carefully, the same way he always does when he brings up something to do with his lycanthropy.

Sirius told her one night, after a lot of fire whiskey, that it was because Remus was afraid of scaring her away. He walked around, dragging his condition behind him like it was made of glass, like it was liable to shatter at any moment and infect her, drive her away.

So she's always tried to be delicate when the conversation turns this serious for Remus: when he lets her see that part of him. She doesn't push. She just listens with quiet nods and thought out responses because as much as he's afraid of pushing her away, she's worried she'll overstep and this thing they have―this blossoming friendship―really will shatter.

And truthfully she's never been all that good at keeping friends.

Maybe it comes with the territory of being an Auror. She's young, yes, but capable and powerful and smart, and maybe the people her own age just don't quite get her like that. They don't see how important it is to her that they win this fight: that they all come out okay on the other side. It's why she joined the fight in the first place.

And maybe they don't get that this face she wears in the quiet moments after dinner isn't a mask, like so many of the others she wears or plays with for work and by request. This is the real her, simple and unchanged.

And they don't get that the pink hair and dragon-hide boots are not some act of long-standing teenage rebellion. That they are not done in defiance of her job.

She wears them because the boots make her stronger. Make her feel solid and grounded and capable. And her hair is the thing that sets her apart. In a world where she can look like anything, it's very easy to feel like nothing, and having that one thing―that pink―means she isn't nothing. It means that people see her, whether they want to or not.

So when Remus lets her know these things. These things that bother him. That he fights against. That make him who he is, she feels just a little bit wanted. Like she's not just another Ministry member. She's part of something finally, with people who get her.

People who _want_ to get her.

"She's been advocating for a legislative law to be passed, registering all assumed Dark Creatures. Once that happens―"

"If it happens," Tonks cuts in. She smiles, not because she knows better, but because she's hopeful. In this world right now, all she can ever be is hopeful.

"_If _it happens," Remus amends, sharing her smile, his a little tighter, a little more forced. "If Dolores gets what she wants, it will be very easy for her to pave the way to forced captivity during full moons. Registered werewolves will lose the few rights we still have."

Tonks knows the legislation he's talking about. The laws that make it harder for him to get a job within the wizarding community. That makes his status that of a Dark Creature, and as such, below that of the rest of wizarding society. For Remus, things in this world will always be given to him last. It makes her sick to think about it: that this kind, brilliant, courageous man is reduced to a file number to be monitored.

But he's not complaining about what he suspects the Ministry is attempting to do. _No_, Tonks senses a question in his ramblings.

"This has been her focus for years," he tells her, and she thinks she starts to understand. "Years of promotions turned away to remain in a position to fight against the welfare of Dark Creatures. After all of that, what's she really doing at Hogwarts?"

Tonks wonders on it for a moment, because obviously Fudge wanted one of his people on the inside. But their fight isn't against Fudge anymore; even as ridiculous and ignorant as the Ministry is being, their fight is with Voldemort. And if they learned anything last year during the Tri-Wizard tournament it was that Voldemort had ways of infiltrating Hogwarts. Of infiltrating people.

So the real question isn't what Toadface is doing there, because that's easy. "Obviously the same thing we're doing at the Ministry," she tells Remus. "Spying."

_Of course_ Umbridge is spying.

The real question, the one that makes all the difference is: who is she spying for?

* * *

The next night Sirius is in a terrible mood.

No news has arrived from Harry and though Remus has said no news is good news, Tonks knows Harry's a bright kid and thinks that maybe he's just opted to keep his correspondence vague to keep his godfather from doing anything terribly stupid.

Like being caught on platform nine and three-quarters by Lucius Malfoy.

The article was printed in this morning's paper; the first order of business during the meeting is for Dumbledore to forbid Sirius from leaving the house for the indefinite future.

Tonks knew it would be an issue before she even arrived tonight.

She had seen the article earlier at work when she bumped into Kingsley on the pretense of rewriting some reports and he dragged her into his office to discuss her not encouraging Sirius to leave the house anymore; she ultimately had to agree for his safety and the Order's.

So she had been prepared for his reaction; she had been waiting all day.

"That's ridiculous!" Sirius says, his voice pitching an octave. "How am I to be any help if I can't leave this bloody house?"

"Right now the fact of the matter is that the Auror department has doubled their efforts to find you. Kingsley will attempt to lead a false trail again, but until we can be sure, we can't risk unnecessary exposure, Sirius." Dumbledore's words ring with finality and Sirius dissolves into a cloud of dark looks. He doesn't say anything for the rest of the meeting and storms off in the middle of Snape's report.

Tonks goes to stand, to chase Sirius down and make sure he isn't going to do something truly stupid, but Remus―sitting next to her, his chair angled towards hers in order to see Snape who has risen to give his report―places a gentle hand on her knee and keeps her in place. He shakes his head and she relents to let Sirius stew in his darkness for the time being.

When Snape finishes his rousing report with a sneer that she thinks is directed at Remus in Sirius' absence, he doesn't stir beside her, so either Remus didn't notice or has gotten very good at dealing with Snape's special brand of social grace. Or lack thereof.

Moody is the next to rise. He gives a quick rundown of their continued mission concerning Umbridge, though that has been fruitless thus far, and Tonks feels a slight pang in her chest. She can't help that they haven't found anything of value yet, but that doesn't change the fact she feels personally responsible for prolonging _Toadface's_ stay at Hogwarts.

Dumbledore doesn't seem perturbed by the news, though, his long fingers tented under his chin, so she pushes those thoughts away when she hears Moody mention her name again.

". . . with Remus to investigate. Sturgis sent the information by Patronus yesterday and we think it's worth a look."

Tonks nods, looking over to see Remus doing a similar head bob, though he looks much more focused and she hopes he's listened to the gist of what they have to do.

"All right, that's it for tonight. Molly's made a delicious looking turnover that I simply must try on my way out, so I bid you all a good night." Dumbledore rises and makes his way towards the stove. A procession soon follows, leaving Tonks at the table with Remus and Moody.

"The coordinates are in here," he says, passing an envelope their way. "Be vigilante, and if there's any cause for concern, don't engage until you call for backup."

"I think we can handle a little stakeout, Mad-Eye." Her lips curl as her former mentor snorts.

"I mean it, girl. Constant vigilance," he growls. "Hate to be scrapping your body parts off the floor after some nasty accident." He stands then and clunks away.

"Is that Mad-Eye's way of telling you he cares?" Remus asks, lip curled.

She laughs. "A bit frightening, isn't it?"

"Marginally, though the fact that he cares that much about you speaks volumes. You must have really stuck with him after your training."

"That's me. Once I'm around I'm hard to get rid of?"

"Who'd ever want to get rid of you?"

She blushes at that but he doesn't seem to notice, accepting a plate of desert from Molly. Tonks has a plate shoved in her own hands, but isn't hungry in the least anymore, and she can't figure why, except for the fact that Remus has made her feel especially self-conscious and a strange fluttering sensation has erupted in her stomach right where the apple turnover is supposed to sit.

She forces it down anyway, being polite, and giving herself something else to focus on besides the burn in her cheeks.

"Shall we?" Remus asks when they have both finished, thanked Molly, and given ample time to deciphering the directions Mad-Eye received from Sturgis.

She nods. Neither of them have Order commitments tonight so it's best they get the assignment out of the way. They pay Sirius a quick visit in the library where he has conjured up some eerie, wailing tune on the wireless; he waves them away with a bottle in his hand and they set out into the darkness of the street.

The house is on a deserted laneway, surrounded by a thick batch of forest. There's an iron peg fence bolted around the yard and a skull on the porch post. Tonks isn't sure if it's real.

The fence creaks with the wind and Tonks pulls her coat tight against a chill. "Sturgis sure knows how to pick 'em, huh?"

She looks up at the crooked house. It's three stories from the outside, perhaps not on the inside if it's enchanted like Grimmauld place, but for the most part, looks abandoned. The trim is chipped and the siding is dropping off like leaves from the trees in Fall. All the windows have shabby curtains drawn over their fronts, some even missing entire glass panes.

"Shall we watch it then for a while?" she asks.

She hasn't bothered to morph. It's too dark here.

Remus nods, pulling out an invisibility cloak. "Just in case," he says, tossing it around them both, forcing her to his side to keep them both covered. She bumps into him for a few minutes until they settle into a semi-comfortable position on the ground across the street.

They watch for an hour and when Tonks can feel her eyelids drooping, she starts to shift, knocking her knees against his.

"There's been nothing for an hour," he says in response. "Nothing's tripped any of our enchantments around the property and there aren't any other people inside. That much we know."

"Do you think someone's going to show up tonight?"

He shrugs. She feels his arm brush hers. "We'll go in. But if someone shows up, anything at all, Apparate back to Headquarters straight away. Don't wait. And don't engage."

"Careful Remus, you're starting to sound like Mad-Eye." She looks over at him; his face is much closer than she anticipated and she has to pull away a little to be able to look him in the eye properly. He isn't laughing.

"That's because he warned me again about constant vigilance. While you were off talking to Molly after desert he told me I might want to brush up on my dueling skills because if I brought you back in anything other than perfect condition I'd be spending the rest of my days as a ferret. He's quite terrifying, you know."

She rolls her eyes. "That Old Bugger; he's making me sound like an incompetent patsy."

"He's just worried. He lived through it all the fir―"

"―the first time. I know. But that doesn't mean he can treat me like I'm some ignorant child."

"I do not think you're ignorant, nor a child. And neither does he." She huffs in response and he nudges her shoulder. "He chose you for this assignment didn't he? And all the others as well?"

"Yes," she says. "He did."

"Then don't begrudge him his worry. It's what people do when they care about each other. They worry."

"Well then, Mr. Lupin, let's get this show on the road so I can return to Moody and tell him you were a perfect, vigilant gentleman." She stands and offers her hand, pulling him to his feet. He teeters into her a bit, both of them tangled in the invisibility cloak.

He holds her shoulders for balance, faced tilted towards her. "That's all I'm asking," he says with a smirk and she can feel his breath on her face. Chocolate from his pockets (he always has some Honeydukes) and peppermint from his tea.

In a single swiping motion, he pulls the cloak from around them, revealing them to the wind and as the cool air hits her, Tonks realizes just how warm she had gotten nestled up beside him. It unnerves her a bit.

"Let's go," she says, turning and marching up the lane towards the house, wand already drawn. "Before the sun rises."

"That won't be for another eight hours."

She stops and turns back towards him, rolling her eyes dramatically. "Honestly Remus, can you not just humour me sometimes? Now hurry up. I want time to go back and give Mad-Eye a full report. I'll give him constant vigilance all right."

"Is this going to involve a lot of paperwork?"

"You bet it is. Nitty-gritty, detailed paperwork just for him to read with that magical eye of his."

"I best book some time out tomorrow then, yes?"

She eyes him. "If we get this done before the sun rises. Now come on."

Remus sighs at her eagerness, following her up the crooked stone path to the house, catching her twice as her boots stumble over loose rock.

"Will this be going in your report as well?" he asks, the back of her coat clenched in his fist.

"That I trip over my feet? No, that's just assumed with Mad-Eye. Though I appreciate that your offer still stands."

"My arms are always open," he says with a chuckle. "But don't think I won't be charging you for this."

She smirks even though he can't see her. She's turned away to uncharm the door. "Alohomora," she whispers and the hinges squeak. The inside of the house smells like old, musty wood. "I don't think anyone's been here for a while."

Remus lights his wand and slips by her. "Let's find out, shall we?" He disappears into the house first.

They cover the first floor in a few minutes. There's upturned furniture and a couple dozen books on Wizard Law covering the kitchen table. So someone with some tie to the magical world lived here at one point, though the books predate both her and Remus. She squints at the title again. Maybe even Dumbledore, too.

While Remus explores the remnants of the kitchen cupboards, Tonks uncharms a slim door on the far side of the kitchen. She expects some sort of pantry but the door opens to fuzzy darkness and a set of narrow stairs. "Remus, look!" she says.

"Nymphadora, be care―"

"―really, Remus? I'm not opposed to hexing you."

She climbs the first few steps. They groan under her weight. A louder groan echoes when Remus joins her.

"Second floor?" she says, walking out onto a landing. There's a series of whitewashed doors. "What do you think's behind door number one?"

"A new broomstick?"

"Ha, I wish. Bet it's more boring old reads."

"You know, the Grimmauld library is full of similar books. Some of them are quite fascinating. The laws the wizarding world used to operate under . . . well some of them were just plain ridiculous. Like did you know it was illegal to drag a dead Hippogriff across Diagon Alley on a Sunday?"

They emerge into a bedroom. There's a tiny bed against the wall and an old container of floo powder on the fireplace mantle. "Why would anyone be dragging a dead Hippogriff anywhere?"

"Have you met Hagrid?"

She laughs. "Alright, fair enough."

The second room has an assortment of old potted plants and when none of the dead weeds attempt to strangle them, Tonks concludes that they're Muggle plants.

Remus is busy reading up on some of the labels while she creeps towards the next room.

There's a creak of a floor board as she turns the knob. She looks back, expecting to find Remus, but he's not there and then she's inside the room, face to face with a pearly white reflection of a woman. She's ethereal, beautiful. So enchanting Tonks can't help but watch her glide across the room towards her. And then the woman's mouth falls open and the most terrible sound erupts. Shrill and warning. Speaking of nothing but death.

"Tonks," a voice shouts from somewhere near her―beside, behind, she isn't sure which―and the last thing she sees before she blacks out into unyielding darkness is a long fingered hand reaching for her, forever reaching and yet just out of reach.


	13. Chapter 13

It's sometime in the early hours of the morning―around two or three―when Tonks wakes from her unconsciousness the first time; the air around her is heavy and smells of mould. It also smells of rich peppermint and chocolate and a little bit of what she thinks is alcohol soaked aftershave. She can't decide whether she likes it or if the swirling, ringing scream stuck in her head makes her want to puke.

It's that nauseous feeling and the weight of her eyelids that send her back into the precipices of sleep, leaving her stuck somewhere between reality and dream.

Remus watches as her eyelids flutter again. She's been pulling in and out for the last few hours and each time his heart leaps to his throat. He hasn't been able to get his wand hand to stop shaking since he side-along Apparated Nymphadora back to Headquarters after the banshee attacked and has taken to clenching the edge of his chair.

Sirius slips back into the room, unusually light on his feet, and plants himself on the edge of Tonks' bed. She barely stirs, barely acknowledges that she's in this reality, but Sirius' passing glance leaves her and settles on Remus' face, torn with exhaustion and fright and worry that spirals lines around his eyes.

"I should have taken her to St. Mungo's," Remus says.

"She's fine. You're probably the only reason she didn't have to go there. Molly and Mad-Eye both checked her over. You did a good job." Sirius summons the tea tray set on the chest by the door. "Have something to drink," he says. "You need to calm down. I can get someone to track down a calming draught if you want."

Remus shakes his head. That last thing he wants is to sleep right now, despite what his body is telling him.

Sirius shrugs and prods at the brown hair on Nymphadora's pillow. "She looks a lot more like her mum this way."

"I always thought Andromeda bore a striking resemblance to Bellatrix," Remus says. He doesn't quite see it on Tonks. She's softer somehow, more delicate, and less frightening, even with the Black cheekbones. It must be from Ted's side of the family.

"Maybe now; when they were younger not so much." Sirius sighs wistfully and releases the limp strand of hair. "Nope, can't quite get used to her this way. There's just something about the pink, you know?"

Remus mumbles something incoherent. He's lost again, thinking about the assignment: the _what if's_, the _maybes_. And maybe just a little bit about how she isn't quite the same without the pink and how terrible it makes him feel inside to see her like this, like a shadow of her usual vibrant self. It's not even a terrible feeling anymore; it's become something closer to fear and it leaves his heart racing the same way it does right before the full moon breaks across the sky.

Sirius doesn't let him stew for long though and continues his assault of questioning, becoming something of a detective in this late night mystery. "Do you think it was a trap? That they knew you'd be staking out the joint?" he asks, his voice low.

Tonks shifts on her pillow and Remus is acutely aware of every time her chest rises. He's been counting her breaths, making sure the lingering effects of the banshee's wail don't do any more harm. She sucks in a pocket of air and Remus holds his breath until he hears her exhale again.

"That tip-off came from Sturgis, didn't it?" Sirius prods again, set in his determination to find out how two Order members walked into what Mad-Eye and Kingsley now thinks was a trap.

"Yes," Remus says. "He also didn't show for his duty yesterday from what Kingsley told me early this morning."

"Do you think someone got to him?"

"I do. And after tonight I think it's clear that they're trying to use him against us."

"He _was_ rather lax about his Order duties lately," Sirius agrees. "But on the same front he wouldn't have been the wealth of information they were hoping for. He's missed most of the key meetings about the prophecy."

"That's exactly why the Death Eaters would have needed someone else: someone more integral to the Order. A Ministry worker if they could have managed it." His fingers tighten around his mug. _If he hadn't of been there . . . if Tonks had been on her own―_

"It was a smart plan," Sirius says. "Lure you into a false sense of security. Then have a banshee do the hard part and stupefy whoever entered the house. Later they come and collect the body."

"Precisely. Then they have access to everything they want to know. Every detail of the Order."

"Bet they didn't figure on having an ex-defence teacher scoping out the house. That bubble-head charm was quick thinking."

_Not quick enough_, he thinks, looking at Nymphadora again. But it could have been worse; so much worse.

"So you think Sturgis has been Imperiused?"

Remus confirms it with a tight-lipped nod. "Yes and I think it's only a matter of time before they use him to strike us again. I hate to say it but Moody's right: we all need to be more vigilant."

"Guess the old bugger knows what he's talking about." Sirius nudges Remus with his foot. "Go on and get some sleep. I'll keep watch."

"It's fine―"

"She's not going to go anywhere. And wouldn't you rather be awake when she is?"

Remus relents, dragging his tired bones from the creaky chair, wincing with every pop and snap of his vertebrae as he stretches his long, cramped limbs. "Wake me if something changes, will you?"

Sirius salutes him. "I'll keep detailed notes, Professor."

"None of your sheet strangling charms either."

Sirius looks affronted. "What do you take me for?"

"A Marauder."

"Oh, yes, alright then. I promise. No funny business until she's up and looking like her old self again. Now go, before the sun rises."

"You know, that's the same thing she said to me before we went inside the house. It's uncanny how alike you two are."

"Well it was inevitable that not all the Blacks could turn out to be heartless, narcissistic, pure-blood loving assholes. I'd say she's coming along just fine."

Remus chuckles to himself, hand on the doorknob. "Goodnight Sirius."

"Cheers. And just so you know you're in charge of breakfast when the sun does come up."

"Kibble and Bits, it is."

"Oh, well now who's uncanny? Taking a page out of her book now are you?"

"I never said anything about you having fleas."

"Yes, but I wonder where she got that idea in the first place?"

Remus shrugs. "You are a rather scruffy dog."

"And you're a sodding werewolf, but I don't see her complaining about that."

He's right. Remus throws Tonks a curious look as he exits. It's something to think about really, but maybe after he's had a few hours of rest. Or maybe he'll just be thinking about things too much again.

* * *

"Morning, darling, have a nice rest?"

Tonks blinks at the yellow light streaming in through the window mounted along the ceiling. Her fingers snake into her hair―her brown hair?― and she winces as she squeezes her head. "I feel like I have a hangover."

"You took a pretty nasty fall."

"Is that what happened?"

"After you were attacked by a banshee."

"A―really?"

"Probably would have ended up in St. Mungo's if it wasn't for Remus," Sirius tells her matter-of-factly. "He cast a bubble head charm before the banshee could do any serious damage. You should thank him. Get him some of that chocolate he's always going on about."

Tonks shuffles up against the headboard, dragging her body into a sitting position and almost tips forward.

Sirius props her back up with a wry smirk. "I didn't mean right now."

"I have to get to work," she says. "Scrimgeor will be expecting me in an hour."

"Well now just hold on. Let me go get Doctor Remus and see what he has to say about that."

Sirius props another pillow against her, making a show of the fact he thinks she's about to topple out of bed when she's really only a tiny bit dizzy, and then he disappears. When the door opens again Remus is standing there, looking blurry eyed, but surprisingly alert.

He's still in his clothes from last night.

"You're alright then?" he asks, forgoing the chair and sitting on the edge of the bed.

She starts to nod, but stops as the room starts to spin. She holds the side of her head, hoping to stop the swirling movement behind her eyes. "Thanks to you, I suppose."

"Well, it is what I do."

Her eyes furrow in confusion at that, and he can't really blame her, not when she was almost stupefied by a banshee. Her mind's probably still a little foggy with the residual scream.

"You know, the whole _defence against the dark arts_ thing."

"Ah. Professor Lupin at his finest," she says, a small smile replacing the look of discomfort. "Wish I could have seen that."

He sighs and brushes a strand of limp hair away from her face.

The way he looks at her stops her heart for a fraction of a second and she definitely forgets to breath until he smiles at her, but it's not his friendly teasing grin, it's softer than that, more gentle and sincere. She takes a breath out of pure shock; no one's ever quite looked at her like that before. "I'm really glad you're okay."

She swallows and doesn't know what to say. He fills the silence for her.

"You really should stay and rest up."

Tonks moves to stand, wobbling a little and Remus steadies her with a hand on her shoulder. "I ought to be off," she insists. "Can't really explain this one to Scrimgeour."

"Yes. You're right," Remus relents. "At least stay for breakfast then? A spot of toast might help with the dizziness."

"Is it that obvious?" she asks, running a hand through her hair.

Remus smiles gently. "Only to a seasoned observer."

"Oh, well, I don't think I could stomach breakfast right now anyhow." She's holding the side of her face. Even her jaw feels achy. "Nothing feels quite right."

"The effects will fade," he assures her. "By tonight you should be back to your old self."

She accepts that with a sigh. "Here's hoping. But thanks again, Remus. I owe you one."

"I'll put it on your tab."

"I'm really going to have to start paying that off soon." She squeezes his hand and walks into the hall. He hesitates a moment before following after her.

"Nymph―Tonks, just . . . please be careful today," he says, taking the stairs two at a time to catch up with her. "Last night wasn't just an accident. So if you run into Sturgis don't confront him. We think he's been Imperiused."

"I thought he seemed a bit funny the last time I talked with him. Guess Mad-Eye's right with all his harping on instincts and vigilance." A sigh and she stomps down the last few steps. "Lock up for me, would you?"

He walks her to the door like always and when he waves, she Apparates home. She changes into her Auror robes and after brushing her teeth, attempts to do something with the mess she's calling hair this morning. She can't believe Remus had an entire conversation with her even though she looked like she had just toppled out of a barn and through a tree.

She also can't believe she's this worried about the way she looks. She's gone into the office on less sleep, looking far more dishevelled before.

The stupid banshee has her all out of sorts today.

* * *

There's a large slab of Honeydukes finest on her desk when she arrives an hour later, wrapped in a note written on pale pink loose leaf. _To my favorite Auror_, it reads. _Hope you're feeling well today_. P.S. _The chocolate really will help._

His favourite? _Well of course she is_, she thinks. Who's he got to choose from: Mad-Eye and Kingsley?

Still, she smiles like she's just won the Quidditch World Cup. But wait. How had he gotten it to her this quickly? She scans the room and spies Kingsley in the corner, flicking lazily through a report. He catches her eye and winks.

_Very sneaky_, Remus.

"Okay, so you're getting presents now?"

Tonks rolls her eyes at the shadow before turning her chair, knees drawn up to her chest. "Bugger off, Chavers."

He ignores her the same way he usually does and plops himself down on her desk, taking a swipe at the note that Tonks quickly stows in her pocket. "And you expect me to believe there's not a guy. Who is it? Some rock musician with a dragon tattoo?"

"Why do you care so much anyway?"

"I don't."

"Hmm. Well you're awfully noisy."

He disappears rather swiftly after that and Scrimageor drops a thick folder on her desk filled with old reports that need transcribing. "Bugger," she whispers, but the note in her pocket has her smiling stupidly until she sees the first draft of what looks to be an incident with a Dark Wizard hunt in the mountains. There's something that looks particularly like blood on the corners of the page and Tonks is sure her finger tips are burning when she drops the paper to stretch her hand and refill her ink.

She's taking one of her post morning coffee breaks when something unusual happens. An owl gets sidetracked by a thick stack of memos destined for the Department of Enchanted Artifacts and knocks the coffee all over her desk.

She siphons as much as she can with her wand before retiring to the loo to clean her robes up a bit.

When she exits the loo she's almost trampled by someone. Looking up, she sees Sturgis. He's bulldozed by her, completely oblivious.

Tonks races back to the Auror Department, scattering an elderly witch's purse as she escapes from the lift and barges into Kingsley's office.

"Kingsley! I―"

"Nymphadora," Scrimgeor says, looking up from behind Kingsley's desk. _What in Merlin's name is he doing here?_ "Did you need something?"

"Where's Kingsley?"

"Just left on assignment."

_And you're raiding his office?_ _Never mind that now_, she thinks. Bigger problems. Sturgis Podmore is in the Ministry of Magic.

_Crap_. Kingsley's gone. Now what? She could get Arthur. But her venturing into his office might draw too much attention. Scrimgeour clears his throat.

"Uh, right . . . nothing, sir. Just looking for his approval on a report."

She backs out of the office, turning on her heel and marching back towards the lifts.

"Tonks?" Chavers says as she stalks by his cubicle. "Everything alright?"

"Yeah fine. Girl problems you know. I'm in the loo in case anyone asks."

She scurries around the first corridor and as soon as she's sure it's empty she sends a Patronus to Headquarters, hoping someone will see it. Remus had said not to confront him. But this wasn't confronting. This was just following.

Tonks takes the lift back down three floors and out past the loos. She finds the emergency exit and races down the stairs. Sturgis had a head start, but he can't have gotten that far.

She emerges into an alley in some slum part of London. The exits always open up in some inconspicuous place.

There's noise to her right and immediately she spies Sturgis fighting his way through some sort of garbage dump.

She's only taken two steps when a pale shimmering figure dissolves around her feet and a hand wraps around her mouth, locking her lips; for an instant she panics, reaching into her pocket for her wand, but there's another hand on her wrist then, halting her.

"Shhh, Nymphadora," a voice says and the panic in her chest settles. It's Remus.

He releases her and she turns. "You got my Patronus?"

"Yes."

Sturgis doubles back and Remus yanks them both against the wall. He's holding her against him, body flush to his, using the shadows to hide. Sturgis scurries down the alley in the other direction, oblivious to their presence for now.

"We need to go after him," she says.

Remus nods and releases her, but keeps pressure on her lower back, letting her know he's there. Keeping her from rushing ahead. That was Remus for you. Always level headed. Always calm. Even when in pursuit of someone who was potentially going to try to kill them.

They follow Sturgis through half a dozen back alleys until they end up in a more familiar part of the city and Tonks realizes they're outside the Leaky Cauldron.

Sturgis slips inside and they follow, watching him gun past the bartender and into the back cupboard.

They give him a moment before following him to Diagon Alley.

The street is less busy during the lunch rush, most of the shoppers have moved indoors for a bite to eat. It makes keeping tabs on Sturgis easier. That and the fact that Remus is so bloody tall.

"Knockturn?" Tonks whispers when Sturgis makes a sharp right and Remus nudges her into another alley.

They trail him sideways, catching brief glimpses of his pale, expressionless face between store fronts.

"He's been summoned," Remus says.

"By who?"

They stop suddenly, seeing that Sturgis has halted beside a grey building, the alley next to it filled with wrecked furniture and an assortment of old cuckoo clocks. The faces are carved in disturbing shapes and the skeletons of real birds spill from the openings above the numbers.

There's a second figure in the alley, cloaked in black, hood drawn over the face.

Sturgis is speaking to him . . . or her. Oh, what Tonks wouldn't give for an extendable ear right now.

Suddenly voices rise and Tonks doesn't have to guess what they're shouting about. It's a plea for life. Arms flail. And then a wand comes out. Tonks doesn't realize she's gasped until the green jet of light has passed into Sturgis' chest and he sprawls forward, lifeless.

The sound of his body smashing against stone sends a freezing chill down her spine.

He's dead.

She bites down on her lip to prevent herself from crying out any further, but her knees are suddenly weak, too shaky to support her, and she thinks she's falling. He's dead. Just like that. A life snuffed out by darkness. She's ready for the contact. Ready to hit the ground. But she never does.

Instead the smell of chocolate and peppermint invades her senses. The soft pill of a worn jacket brushes across her nose and between her fingers and she grabs hold. There's a moment of divine clarity in which she realizes she's been turned in Remus' arms. He's clenching her face to his chest, keeping her sobs muffled so they're not found.

She doesn't think being trapped in his embrace should make her feel any better but it does and she squeezes his coat just a little bit harder.

* * *

"You can't say anything to anyone," Remus says, walking her back towards the entrance to the Ministry.

"I know."

He pulls her off to the side, taking her by the shoulders. "Are you alright? You're very pale."

She's just seen a man get murdered. But yes she's fine. This is war, right? Why wouldn't she be fine? "I'm fine."

"Come to Headquarters tonight. Molly and Arthur will be there." When she doesn't respond he adds a quiet, "Please."

She gives a vague shrug and wanders off towards the public loo. When she steps into the toilet and flushes herself back into the Ministry she feels a terrible clawing sensation in the pit of her stomach. Sturgis is dead because of the sacrifices he made for the Order. It made him a target. It made him weak. And now his cold, lifeless corpse was going rigid on a back street in Knockturn Alley where no one would think twice about it. And there was nothing she could do; but certainly the Order should do something. He was one of theirs and the least he deserves is to be buried and remembered by the people he called friends. If they can't at least give him that then what does any of this matter?

_There won't be anything left of him by the time we can arrange to go get him_, Remus had told her.

They'll want to make a spectacle of him. Of the Order.

Tonks finishes her shift in a daze and returns home to her flat. She can't even remember how she got there: whether she Apparated or walked or if she flooed. For some reason it doesn't matter.

She slips out of her robes, leaving them in a tired heap on the ground, and turns the shower on full, stepping inside and releasing a breath that's been building since this afternoon.

The water in the shower is hot enough to scald, but she's feeling so out of sorts she doesn't realize until she steps out of the stream, twisting in front of the steam covered mirror to find her usually creamy skin red and hot.

Her hair's lost some of its vibrance, the bright pink faded back to an almost brown. She can't be bothered to change it though and lets the almost pink settle in wet waves on her shoulders.

She slips into her favorite pajamas: a pair of cotton shorts and an oversized jumper and fiddles with the lights in the kitchen before going to bed.

The dark makes her squirm a bit more tonight. She suspects it will for several days: at least until she can get the images of Sturgis being killed out of her mind.

Tonks collapses on her bed, wrung out and ready for the day to simply end. That's when she hears it: someone pounding against her front door.

The knocking is so persistent that she's drawn her wand and stopped two feet from the door.

"Who is it?" she calls, fingers itching with anticipation.

"Remus."

She opens the door slowly, wand still drawn.

"You didn't show for dinner," he says. He swallows. He's breathing like he's just run a marathon. "I had to be sure."

"Sure of what?"

"That you didn't go back for his body. Kingsley's just received a call. They found the dark mark over Knockturn." He's almost breathless now. "I thought maybe . . . and when you didn't show up."

His eyes are wide, almost chaotic looking, an air of fear in their appearance. _But she's right here_, she wants to say. _She didn't go anywhere._

"I was so worried."

She blinks, something registering in her mind. _Then don't begrudge him his worry. It's what people do when they care about each other. They worry. _That's what he had said to her the other night about Mad-Eye.

She takes his hand then, the one wrapped around the door frame and squeezes. He's shaking and cold. "Would you like to come in?" she asks, though she's already pulling him inside. "I'll make tea."

He doesn't resist and let's her lead him to the kitchen table. He sits, resting his hands under his chin and watches her: watches her fill the kettle, search for tea bags, pour the water, stir in a dash of milk.

He doesn't stop watching her until she's sat down across from him. Then he finally looks down at the tea in his hands. "I'm sorry to barge in like this. I didn't mean to intrude. I just―"

"It's okay, Remus," she says, placing her hand gently on his arm. "I worry about you, too."

* * *

**Hello Readers!**

**I just want to take the time out to say thank you for following and reviewing. I hope you've enjoyed the story so far and continue to do so. I love hearing your thoughts on the chapters, even if it's just to say you're looking forward to more, so don't hesitate to drop me a line!**

**On another note, as I continue to plot out this story it's looking more and more like it will take a slight shift from canon eventually and end up in an alternate universe stream. (Teddy won't let me kill them; he really won't.) I think it will still borrow from most of the main canon events, but I'd like to try my hand at a story where these two end up with some sort of happily ever after.**

**They've got a long way to go yet, but I think they deserve it after everything they had to go through.**

**I hope you continue to enjoy this story, just wanted to give everyone a heads up so there are no surprises come future chapters :D**


	14. Chapter 14

October fades in without Tonks noticing. It's only when she's gone to meet Remus at Headquarters one night to pass along some information and Sirius gapes at her for a minute, and then reminds her about the full moon tomorrow, that she realizes an entire month has gone by.

_Of course_ Remus is asleep now. The waxing moon makes him lethargic and exhausted. She knows this. It's only been five months of learned werewolf etiquette. She likes knowing, especially if it helps Remus to feel more comfortable during the full moons; and even though he has neglected to share some of these things with her out of some moral unimposing duty, Sirius has made sure she knows. In his drunken stupors, in his sober states, he makes sure to leave her these little clues about Remus.

So she feels so incredibly stupid and inconsiderate that she's forgotten just how close to the moon it really is; she tells Sirius this.

He stares at her again, head turning, brow furrowing, eyes narrowing strangely before declaring that she needs a drink.

"I don't need a drink," she says, but he has her by her coat sleeves and is dragging her towards the kitchen.

"You do," he says.

"What for?"

"For sorting out your problems."

"I don't have problems . . . except for this information Mad-Eye wanted me to get to Remus. You think you could get it to him for me? I know how exhausted he'll be tomorrow and I don't want to barge in."

"Yeah, yeah," Sirius says, stealing the parchment and tossing it on the kitchen table. "I'll tell him. Sit." He forces her into a chair and pours her a cup of fire whiskey. "Drink."

"Shouldn't you be up keeping Remus company? You know, playing fetch or something?"

"Drink."

"Sirius, really―"

"You're being overly emotional about this."

"Overly what . . . Are you kidding? I have to work tomorrow. I'd prefer not to want to run starkers down the street because of it."

"You sure that's the only reason? You're not worried about telling me some of your deepest, darkest secrets if I get you drunk?"

"What secrets?" There's a thump from upstairs and something slides across the floor. Her eyes automatically fly up. "Does Remus rearrange the furniture the day before he transforms? This some sort of werewolf Feng-Shui?"

"Secrets: that's a fine topic. Tell me about your day," Sirius says.

She follows the path of noise from upstairs with her eyes for another moment before shrugging. "Work was work. Kingsley had us go looking for you in a nice little beach town today. Sandy. Sunny. Took my shoes off and almost called it a vacation. Might be the kind of place I settle down one day."

"Sounds like a good place to camp out," Sirius agrees. "Maybe I should fancy a visit."

"Padfoot could do with a saltwater bath, but no chance there, buddy. You're stuck here until further notice."

He sighs and crosses his arms. "Alright. I'll choose to ignore the dig concerning my hygiene since you _have_ used it before. What else happened?"

"Nothing. Mad-Eye came by, left the information for Remus with me."

"Why not Kingsley?"

"I don't know. I suppose because he thought I'd see him first."

Sir nods, refilling their glasses. "Okay. What else."

"Nothing. I was going to send Remus a Patronus to let him know I'd be dropping by but then I got off early so I thought―"

"You know, you've said his name five times in the last thirty seconds."

She swallows, the whiskey burning her throat in a good way. "Who?"

"Remus."

"And?"

"Seriously?" Sirius says. "What are you playing at?"

"Me? Nothing," Tonks says. Another swallow. "Are you drunk?"

Sirius finishes off the bottle. "Completely. That's beside the point."

"You're being awfully strange tonight. Are you having a midlife crisis? Trying to live vicariously through my _oh so fabulous_ life?"

"Yes to both of those probably. You know, since Dumbledore locked me up and threw away the key my only source of entertainment is what Kreacher decides to cook for dinner and what you and Moony get up to for the Order in your spare time. But enough out me and my problems. You're deflecting."

"Deflecting what exactly?"

"You really don't know? You can't see the issue that's literally right in front of you most of the time? Trailing you around? I mean, come on, you stumble into it most of the time."

"I stumble into most things; you'll have to be more specific."

"I'm not sure I should even do you the favour. If you're that oblivious still."

"Is this a new thing you're trying? Speaking in riddles. Or has the alcohol finally permeated your brain?"

"I always have alcohol on the brain. And maybe you're just not up to snuff at solving riddles. I'm thoroughly disappointed with your Auror training."

"If it's a riddle solver you're in need of, I'd ask Remus. He seems to do fairly well on the crossword every morning."

"I'll be working on him next. Considering his bookish qualities, he can be rather dense when it comes to the facts."

"Must be all those heavy books he's been reading lately. Might be time to liberate the library a little; some of those reads are as dull as _Hogwarts: A History_."

"Yes, I think he's on to _The Art of Dream Interpretation: An Basic Guide for the Gifted Seer_."

She chuckles a little, but it's uneasy and for the first time since they began talking, Sirius notices that he's ventured onto an uneasy topic.

"Well that might explain all the dream mumbo-jumbo he's been trying out on me lately," she says, brushing the discomfort away with a cheeky smile.

Sirius doesn't by it and breaks out a second bottle from the cupboard. It's a flowery elf-made wine. She waves it away, knowing it will be enough to do her in. Sirius tops up her glass anyway; she pushes it out of reach.

"Remus told me you're still having nightmares."

She shifts in her chair, casting a glance sideways. "I wish he wouldn't have."

"Alright, I lied. He didn't tell me exactly. I overheard you one night when you were here, talking in the library."

Her eyes flick back to his, her hands folding and unfolding in front of her mouth, elbows propped on the table. "Eavesdropping?"

"Most definitely. I explained my current house-arrest predicament to you, did I not?"

"Hmm."

"The first people we lost last time were hard, too. It was the first blow to the Order. The first time we realized we weren't some young invincible band of misfits running around, fighting Death Eaters. Made everything real, you know?"

"But this isn't the first one, Sirius. There were people before. And now . . . Crouch and Cedric . . . the disappearances in the paper. Mad-Eye says it's just a matter of time before the bodies turn up."

"But it's your first one. I'm sorry you had to see it at all. Shouldn't have had to. A bright, spunky kid like you."

She purses her lips. "I'm not a kid, Sirius. And I think if we're measuring on the maturity scale, I far outweigh you."

"You'll always be a kid to me. That little bundle of pink-haired fluff that I heard about while I was couch surfing at James'."

"That after your mother kicked you out?"

Sirius throws his head back, hand rubbing at the scruff on his chin. "She didn't so much kick me out as she did try to eradicate me from Black existence."

"Just can't catch a break, can you?"

"It comes with the territory, I guess. Black sheep in this family possesses common sense and decent morals; both paint large targets on our backs. A responsibility you'll have to shoulder soon I expect. Especially now that out dear Auntie has escaped."

She shivers at the mention of Bellatrix and Sirius plays with the wine cork, pointing it at her. "What else happened today? There's something you're not telling me."

She bites her lip. She hadn't wanted to bring it up. Hadn't wanted to worry them anymore than they already were. But suddenly she realizes she's been under investigation. _The sneaky bugger_.

"Did Kingsley already send an Owl?"

"Why d'you think I brought it up? And it was a Patronus, actually."

"If you know, then why are you asking me?"

"It's good to get these things off your chest. I know I'm no Remus, but I consider my listening skills to be above average. And it's not like I have anywhere else to be. I'm all ears."

"There isn't really anything else to say but what Kingsley probably already told you." She plays with her fingernails, the chipped blue polish flaking off beneath her thumb.

The package had arrived by post this morning and was delivered by one of the errand boys to the department.

Scrimgeor had opened it and it was his call of, "Oh, Merlin!" that had them all pausing.

The take-away box he clutched―then promptly dropped―contained a human hand. There was an emblem of a phoenix burnt into the flesh. Tonks had looked up, startled, disgusted, and locked eyes with Kingsley across the room. It had been meant for them, of course―for the Order. Someone was still making good use of Sturgis' body.

"It's alright to be frightened," Sirius tells her, breaking her from the memory. "That's a messed up thing to see."

"I wasn't scared, though," she says. "Just pissed that they took the time to do that to him, you know? It wasn't bad enough that they killed him. They had to make a show of it, too." She swipes at her eyes, flushed with unshed, angry tears. "Remus said they'd do that."

"Animals," Sirius says. "They like to play with their food, too. It's for shock value."

"You don't think it was her, do you? Bellatrix, I mean."

"That sent Sturgis' hand to the Auror office?" Sirius grimaces into his mug. "It's quite possible."

She swallows, whatever she's about to say next eaten up by the bile in her throat.

"Dora, you don't have to do this, you know. No one would blame you. The longer the war goes on, the more central you'll become. We all will. And she'll find us first." His eyebrow quirks. "It's a family thing, you know. Gotta prune the tree."

She smiles then, a little ruefully. "Oh, wow. Dora? Really? You _are _drunk. Only my dad calls me that."

"I know. But I wanted you to know I meant it. That I'm not just rambling in my intoxication. Winning this war doesn't have to be what you do. It doesn't have to be who you become."

"Thanks, Sirius. But you're not getting rid of me that easily. I signed up for the long haul and I'm here now. I don't want to keep seeing names I recognize in the paper . . . _I can't_. The Order means I'm doing something about it." She swallows. "I have to know I'm doing something. That make any sense?"

"More than you realize." He downs his drinks and fiddles with the glass between his fingers. "You know, you really did turn out alright. I should owl your Mum and tell her I think so."

"And tell her you're alive and thriving and not a Death Eater while you're at it?"

"Well yes, I think it would be alright. She's always been good at keeping secrets. Managed to keep your dad one almost the entire time she was at Hogwarts; even with two nosy sisters."

"That's the Slytherin blood for you. Narcissa and Bellatrix probably had their noses stuck too far up the ceiling to even consider that Mum might look at anything other than a pure-blood."

"Well, that's the thing with love. You find it at the most inopportune times, right in front of your nose, and common sense means bollocks all to you because your world gets just a little bit smaller; small enough for two, really. But when you find it you have to hold on to it because it does amazing things."

She huffs a laugh in response. "I think you've had just about enough to drink for tonight. You're preaching."

He staggers off the chair to emphasize her point, gesturing to her with flailing arms. "I'm never _that_ drunk."

Tonks sighs and stands as well. "I have to go. Do you want me to tuck you in or do you think you can manage the stairs by yourself?"

He looks indignant. "I'll be fine thanks. And don't think we're finished here. There's plenty more wisdom cracking around my skull."

"We never really are. There's always more whiskey."

"That's not what I meant! You'll be back tomorrow for the meeting, won't you? I'm never having kids, so I've got to bestow my good sense on someone and Molly's corrupting Harry against me."

Tonks laughs. "Good night, Sirius. Make sure you give Remus those papers, will you?"

He shakes his head, chuckling under his breath, a little maniacal if she thinks about it, and she wonders if he'll make it up to bed at all tonight.

He wonders if she knows she's managed to make the conversation about Remus again.

There's a slight chill in the air when she steps outside, the door closing behind her with a pop, so she makes quick work and Apparates off the front step, landing in her flat. It's a good thing she chose her bedroom because the first thing she does is topple over onto her bed.

_Damn elf wine_, she thinks. She summons a glass of water from the bathroom and downs it before flopping on her pillow. She hopes it will be enough to starve off a hangover tomorrow, though that might be wishful thinking. She's too exhausted to move anyway, the idea of rooting through her cupboard for a calming draught quickly abandoned, and she opts to just sleep in her clothes.

It's been a long, tedious, horrible, terrible, _very bad day_.

She's glad it's almost over.

Before her eyes shut completely, she pays the moon a glance and for Remus' sake wishes tomorrow was over with as well. They could all do with a break.

The next morning Tonks is in her cubicle early. She couldn't sleep, so she decides to get an early start on the day and the new pile of folders on her desk containing Sirius Black sightings that have poured in from witnesses all over Britain. Some of them are simply ridiculous, especially considering she's the only one who's seen him in the last twenty-four hours.

"World must be ending if you beat me here."

She looks up to see Chavers smiling over the cubicle wall at her. "Must be," she says.

"You okay? After yesterday I mean? You know . . ." He wiggles his hand.

"That's not funny."

"I know. It's bloody well terrifying. Wish they'd start screening the stuff they let in here."

Tonks sits up straight in her chair. _They do screen deliveries_. At least, they've started to. It's all in one of the new memos piled on her desk.

She whips her head around. "Have you seen that errand boy? The one who drops off the Prophet?"

"Nope. Why?"

_Because he dropped off Sturgis' hand and she wants to know where he got it from. Geez, it's a good thing he's pretty._

"Never mind."

"Well, I'll tell you one thing," Chavers says, dropping his bag on his desk and shucking his cloak, "that'll be the last time I eat from the curry place down the street. Only thing I'll ever be able to think of now when I see the take-away container is a grisly, severed hand."

Tonks furrows her brow. The container was plain. How does he know where it came from? Could have been almost any take-away joint in the city.

"Chavers?"

"Hmm?"

"What were you doing yesterday before work?"

"I dunno, same thing as always I suppose."

"Can you not remember?"

"I don't remember anything other than that damn hand. And what was the phoenix all about, hmm? Do you think the Crime Wizards have finished with it yet? I kind of wanted to take a second look at the marking. See if we can get a match down in Registry and Records."

_Oh no._

"Sorry, Kingsley wants you helping with these." Tonks hands him a hefty pile of reports. "Gotta track down Black."

"Kingsley's assigning me work before he's even here? Geez, this is what I get for showing up early."

She watches him from the corner of her eye. He doesn't mention the hand again, and for the moment she's glad. There's too many problems on her plate right now, and having Chavers add to it by deciding to be a real Auror for once is not real high on her priority list.

She makes a mental note to talk to Kingsley about it at lunch. He's tied up when she tries, though; both Scrimgeor and Fudge are in his office and she wants nothing to do with that mess, so she resolves just to talk to him at the Order meeting.

As usual, when her shift's done, she's one of the first ones at Headquarters and she puts the quiet to good use, finishing up some of her reports. That is, until she's joined by Remus; when he sits down right next to her, close enough for his foot to brush her knee when he crosses his leg, she loses all interest in her case. And focus. She loses that, too.

"Afternoon," he says, checking his watch.

"Wotcher."

Sirius walks in, tailed closely by Kreacher. "I'm here too, in case anyone cares. So is the ruddy elf!"

"Oh, we know you're here," Remus says to him. "Trust me." He sounds a bit off, a little short with his words, though she chalks it up to the moon.

Sirius crashes around in the cupboards until he locates a loaf of bread. "Anyone hungry?"

They both decline.

"Probably for the best. Bread's kind of green." He slams the cupboard door.

"He's in a ripe mood today," Tonks mutters under her breath, stowing her quill and ink in her bag.

Remus eyes him, then her. "You have no idea."

"Do I even want to know what's caused this?"

"Harry's been banned from Quidditch. Umbridge's doing."

"_Oh, bollocks_. That woman has another thing coming."

"Yes, well, best just to avoid the topic. Sirius is liable to start hurling sandwich fillers in a moment." Remus lets out a weighty sigh and shifts in his chair so he's facing her head on. His voice evens out. "I heard about the other morning. That must have been hard."

She takes a moment to adjust to the change of topic. "First time I've had a body part mailed with me in mind." She looks off, staring past Sirius and Kreacher.

Remus pulls her back with a hand on her arm. "It gets easier―the remembering."

"You've said as much." She sighs. "I guess this is what I signed up for."

"No one signs up for war or to lose people they care about."

"But it's dangerous being on the outside, right? Going against the mainstream. That's what you told me."

"Yes."

"But someone has to be on the outside."

"I told you that, too, didn't I?"

"Yes."

"I'm surprised you remember."

"How could I forget?" she says. "That was one of the first times I met you."

"Memorable was it?"

She smirks then. "Not as memorable as the time I beat you at chess."

"Oh, really?"

"Twice if I recall."

"I was rusty."

"Are you still?"

He leans towards her, his elbow on the back of her chair, propping up his head, his laughing smile and crinkled eyes so close she can see the shades of gold flecked inside the blue.

"What are you two whispering about over here? Must be a riot." Sirius plunks down in a chair and flicks a pea at them from across the table. Remus transfigures it into a moth and it flutters up to the ceiling.

Tonks turns her head towards Sirius, sticking her tongue out, and Remus can smell the vanilla from her shampoo.

When she turns back Remus is still close. She can see the bags beginning under his eyes. The moon is tonight; not the best night for an Order meeting, but as Remus says, duty waits for no one. Not even the resident werewolf.

The next hour ticks by and the afternoon turns to early evening.

Tonks is still seated beside Remus when the rest of the Order begins to file in. Dumbledore doesn't show; he has other commitments for the evening, Merlin only knows what with that man, so Mad-Eye heads the meeting.

The first order of business, as expected, is regarding the incident this morning. Tonks blocks it out; frankly she's tired of replaying the images in her mind. First of Sturgis' murder, then of his body being hacked to pieces. She hears mumblings of _constant vigilance_ and takes that as her cue to drop back in.

"Have you gotten anywhere with the Robards information?" Mad-Eye is asking Remus. "We need someone with eyes on the place as soon as possible. If the Death Eaters are recruiting out of the house we might be able to apprehend a few of them."

"He's taken three days leave starting tomorrow," Kingsley adds. "I checked with his department head today."

Mad-Eye nods. "Right. Remus, can you get eyes on the place in the next couple days?"

Tonks notices how his features tighten and his body stiffens beside her. "I'm afraid I'll be indisposed."

Moody opens his mouth, but then closes it, thinking better about what Remus has just said.

_The moon_, Tonks thinks. _That's why_. "I could do it," she offers out loud. "I don't have guard duty any of those nights."

Remus blinks dramatically, looking at her like he's just noticed her for the first time, though that's ridiculous because they had been speaking all afternoon. "No," he says, his voice low.

"Honestly, Remus. It's no trouble. I can do it."

His eyes narrow on hers. "No," he says again, gathering up the Robards file, his tone cold. "It can wait until a later date." He stands and slips from the room before anyone can object. Before she can wonder about what she's done wrong.

Tonks looks across at Sirius, mouth still agape with what might have been an apology if Remus hadn't stormed off; Sirius just shrugs at her.

* * *

Remus stumbles into the kitchen early the next morning, looking a little battered, his jumper pathetically patched, and promptly collapses into a chair.

"Nice night?" Sirius asks him.

"Terrific," he deadpans. "Always enjoy sleeping on the floor."

"You leave fur balls on the bed."

Remus grumbles in response and Sirius makes a job of folding the Prophet perfectly back along its crease lines. He folds each page, slips them together, and then places the newspaper in the center of the table. "Sounds like mean, old Moony hasn't really left yet."

"What are you talking about?" Remus asks. Sirius is stalling, which means he's either done something very stupid and needs help or he has something rather important to say. Considering he isn't allowed to leave the house, Remus assumes it is the latter.

"You're in a foul mood," Sirius explains. "And you were awfully abrupt last night, too."

"What?"

"With Tonks. I know you get that way sometimes near the moon, but she was only trying to help with the Robards thing."

This flusters him. It's not what he's expecting at all and he doesn't have an answer right away. Mostly because he's trying to think back through the haze that was his transformation last night and remember exactly what he said, how he said it, the look on her face as he did. "I―I didn't even . . . I didn't mean to be. I just didn't want her to go off on her own again. Not after what happened last month."

"Well you could have told her that, mate. She thinks she's annoyed you or something."

"Of course she hasn't! I was just worried."

"I know."

"What d'you mean, you know?"

"I know you worry about her. I do, too. You're were just more vocal about it last night."

"Well, I just―"

"Remus, that's not a bad thing."

He's feeling very caught off guard. But about what?

Sirius doesn't seem surprised. In fact, he's looking rather smug. "I'm off to bed then."

"Have you been waiting up all night for that?" Remus asks.

Sirius shrugs. "Had to talk to you and that seems to go better when you're not a wolf."

"About Nymphadora?"

"If that's what you think this conversation was about, then sure."

"Well wasn't it?"

Sirius smirks. "Aren't all our conversations lately about my dear little cousin?"

"What are you getting at?"

"That, Moony, is what you really need to rack your brain about. You know, the two of you could head-up the Thick-Skulled Shape-Shifter Society together. And even then you still wouldn't get it."

"You know, it's really quite early for all this sarcasm. And quite unfair of you to pounce on me right after a transformation."

"Quit it with the guilt trip, alright. I know you only came down because you smelled the tea."

Remus fiddles with the hem of his jumper. It's fraying and he tries not to pull at it. "And now my secret's out, I suppose."

"One of them is at least," Sirius mutters.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Ugh, you're unbelievable. I can't believe they let you teach children."

"Because I'm a werewolf?" Remus asks, more than mildly confused.

"Because you're a blind fool, Moony." He stands. "Now I'm really going to sleep. You should wait here."

"Why?"

Sirius points to the file on the table. "Because we're going to have a caller soon and it's rude not to greet our guests no matter how poorly you're feeling. There's a new pot of tea on the stove by the way. Ta."

He sweeps from the kitchen in a very Snape-esque fashion, leaving a bemused Remus alone at the table. Three minutes later Nymphadora tumbles out of the fireplace, dusting soot from her Auror robes. She looks up and her eyes widen, first in surprise and then in an embarrassed apology, her cheeks flaming the same pretty pink as her hair.

"Oh, I didn't think anyone would be up yet. Sorry. Just forgot my case notes last night. Swore I put them back in my bag, but I guess not."

"No trouble," Remus assures her with a wave. "I was just heading back up to bed for a while." He tries to stand but the weight is too much and his limbs shake.

There's a series of bruises down his neck, over his collar, most likely disappearing further inside his jumper. His sleeves are rolled up and similar grey bruises snake up his arms.

"Does it hurt terribly?" Tonks asks, registering too late that it might be too personal a question for this hour of the morning. Or any hour really. She grabs the case file and clutches it to her chest, prepared should he glare at her the way he did last night and she need to make a quick escape into the Floo. Whatever's happened between them, she doesn't want to make it any worse.

But he doesn't look angry, only hurt at the way she backs towards the fireplace. "My human muscles don't quite agree with the transformation," he says gently, as if trying to coax her back. "They'll fade by tomorrow."

She takes a tentative step in his direction then. "I could, if you wanted. Mum's a healer. I've learned a few tricks over the years, being a clumsy fool and all."

He wishes it were the case, that a simple spell could vanish the reminders of the painful process, but curses like this work differently. Abide by their own magic. He doesn't wish to dispel the hopeful look in her eyes though, so he simply shakes his head and pushes out a chair for her. "Your company is remedy enough, if you'd care to sit?"

"Of course," she says. She stumbles on the chair leg and tips into him a bit, hands splayed on his chest, surprised at how firm he is beneath her fingers, how warm. "Sorry," she mumbles, cheeks flushing again. She sits back in her chair. "I didn't hurt you, did I?"

Remus chuckles. "I'm not that breakable."

"No, I just mean . . . because of last night and―"

"I know. It's okay."

She raises a delicately arched eyebrow at him. "So you really don't mind my company?"

He feels a tightness in his chest constrict at her words. "I really didn't mean to be short with you the other night," he says. "Sirius was already testing my patience, and the moon always puts me on edge. I just didn't think it was a good idea for you to stake out Robards place alone." He rolls his shoulders and sees her exhale, looking slightly more relaxed than before and he hates the fact that he might have upset her. "You being here is a nice distraction, actually."

"A distraction," she smirks, one corner of her mouth lifting. "I can do that. Have you heard the one where a Goblin, a Grindylow, and a Ghoul all sit down at a bar together?"

"I don't think Ghouls drink."

"Remus," she laughs, swatting him on the arm, "just humour me a minute, would you?"

Remus relents with a smile. Hearing her laugh is enough to make his stiff, achy muscles settle and he thinks staying awake longer than he should is completely worth seeing the smile he puts back on _her_ face.

And it startles him just how much he wants to see her smile; how much _he_ wants to be the one to make her smile.

* * *

**Thanks for reading and Happy Easter tomorrow to anyone that celebrates it! Happy Sunday tomorrow if you don't.**

**I hope you enjoyed Chapter 14, otherwise entitled: The One Where Sirius Knows First. ;P**


	15. Chapter 15

November arrives along with the cold, which means blizzardy days, snow storms and frozen street corners. So it's really no surprise to Remus when Nymphadora arrives at Headquarters one afternoon, sleet drenched and cupping her head.

She smiles sheepishly. "Wotcher."

Remus holds the door open for her, giving her a once over as she steps inside, shivering a smattering of snow onto the mat; she slides out of her coat and boots, socked feet dancing on the cold floor in the wake of the open door. She's exchanged her Auror robes for a pair of faded jeans and a dark grey knitted jumper. There's a bright yellow scarf tied around her neck, crystals of ice frozen on the fraying tassels.

She unties it, hooks it over the coat stand, and cards a hand through her hair, knocking snowflakes from the twirled pink strands. "Stop looking at me like that," she says suddenly.

Remus blinks, unsure of what he's really been looking at. It had started as an innocent, curious, questioning desire to know the nature of Nymphadora's said apparent injuries, though at some point he had stopped trying to understand her unique brand of clumsy today and instead began taking stock of the way her hair curled at the tips, weighed down with snow; the way her eyes glowed in the dim lamp light, moth blue for the moment; or the way her cheeks, tinted pink with cold, rounded in humour at the sight of his disbelief.

"I'm not looking at you like anything," he says, snapping out of the daze and focusing. She had been holding her head when she arrived; clearly the product of her inability to stay upright of her own accord for long.

He tips his head a little more to inspect what he thinks is a bruise along her left temple when she releases a dramatic sigh at his expense.

"You are. And I'm fine."

She spins on her heel and stalks away towards the kitchen, skirting around the umbrella stand and ducking under the mounted boars head; despite her best attempts, he notices the limp.

"Nymphadora!"

"It's not my fault," she shouts over her shoulder, knowing exactly why she's being called out. "The stairs are icy, okay. Would it kill Sirius to cast an anti-slip charm on the porch?"

"That won't help with the rest of the country, Cuz," a voice calls from the library.

"Sod off," is her eloquent reply. Remus watches as she hobbles down the stairs, disappearing from view with a wince and a muttered string of curses.

"Nymphadora, wait! Let me see," he calls, following her into the kitchen and around the table.

"Remus, I'm fine. Really." She puckers her lips, staring at him as he drops a hand on her shoulder. "And stop calling me that."

"You're limping," he says, a gentle, concerned twist to his lips. His eyes burn into hers with how sincere he seems and she has to shrug away, scoffing and crossing her arms to help dispel the strange looping sensation in the pit of her stomach.

This is how it always was with them lately: one second, completely at ease, laughing, joking, and then something would be said, something would happen―a look, an off-handed comment, a feeling―and then it was all stifled silence and heated gazes and she has no idea what it means.

"Maybe I just want to walk this way," she says, being purposely petulant. "You know, see what Mad-Eye's all about."

His lips lift at the corner. "Very funny. Now let me see your leg." His eyebrow lifts and he has the audacity to curl his lip; like a sad, pouting man is going to convince her. "Please."

Okay, maybe a sad, pouting, _pleading_ man could convince her. A pleading man with twinkling blue eyes, a five o'clock shadow, and the―_what was she even thinking about again?_

She crosses her arms and plops down in a chair, huffing to make her point; she's not sure what that is anymore. "Very well, have at it."

"You promise not to hex me?"

"Yes, I'll concede not to hex you if you get on with it already."

He crouches in front of her, smirking, and rolls her pant leg up to her thigh with such singular focus, folding the hem over and over so carefully, that if she didn't know any better, she'd say he was thoroughly distracted by something.

But then he's looking up at her, unimpressed. There's a pulsing gash on her knee, yellowing already. "You're fine?"

"Our definitions of fine may vary slightly," she supplies, shrugging her shoulders and becoming preoccupied with her reflection cast against the pot on the stove.

He shakes his head at her supposed indifference for her own wellbeing and returns to his worrying inspection.

She stiffens at the feel of his fingers―calloused and weather-worn―on her knee.

His hands are warm on her skin as he feels around the injury.

Her eyes are wide―widen further―reflected in the silver pot, the colour a strange shade of purple she's never seen on her face before, darkening still, black almost. Her heart pounds in her chest, echoing up to her ears.

She looks down slowly, at the top of his head, at the graying brown hair that parts on either side of his face. It's considerably longer than when she met him. She wonders what it would be like to run her fingers through it, to push the strands back along his head, to cup his face and―

"Ah!" she says, reflex pulling her leg back. He's found the source of her pain.

"Sorry," he says. "But you're a very fidgety patient."

He's looking up at her then, but not _at _her really, more like straight through her and she feels compelled to swallow, to lick her lips, suddenly so dry.

_Oh Merlin_ . . .

His hand moves over her knee and down her leg, long fingers massaging their way across her calf. It's only an inspection, but the shiver that runs up her spine, tingling at the base of her neck, has her stomach doing somersaults.

_Oh damn_ . . .

"There," he says, mumbling a spell that warms her leg to the bones. "Good as new."

"Thank you," she whispers. Even her voice is betraying her.

"It's the least I can do, seeing as I wasn't there to catch you this time."

And he usually always is, she thinks.

_Bugger it all._

"Now, let's see about your head."

She touches the bruise she can feel beside her eye. "S'fine."

"I think we already had this conversation."

"Yeah," she breathes, his hands perched on her knees, squeezing lightly; she's feeling decidedly dizzy. "We did."

The uneven _clomp, clomp_ of a peg leg pulls her attention to the door way. Mad-Eye looms there, grey hair more grizzled than usual, blue eye as creepy and piercing as usual.

"I need you two in the library when you have a chance," he says. "Black's got a map you have to take a look at. Couple colleagues of mine are flying in a shipment of nettle leaves for St. Mungo's."

"Nettle leaves?" Tonks says, rolling her pant leg back down and standing hastily. "They use those in healing don't they? Reviving people after stunners and such?"

Mad-Eye nods. "The shipment of potion ingredients keeps getting intercepted. We think by one of the Death Eaters. Last delivery man showed up in a shed in upper Norfolk. Dead."

Remus gives a subtle, understanding nod; Tonks grimaces. "So what are we supposed to do?"

"Make the exchange is all and get the ingredients back here." Mad-Eye shrugs, taking a sip from his hip flask. "It's a favour Dumbledore needs done for Poppy. Think you're up for it?"

"Of course," Remus agrees immediately. Madame Pomfrey spent the better part of his seven years at Hogwarts patching him up after every full moon. He can do her this simple favour. "Where are we going?"

"Rendezvous point is in Egypt―"

"Egypt?" Tonks says eagerly. "You mean sun? Sand?"

"―Bill just finished outlining directions for you two. And no, Nymphadora, before you go getting excited, this is not a vacation. Strictly Order business. I don't want to hear about you―"

But she's already gone, disappeared in a flurry of rather un-Tonks-like squeals up the stairs, to find Sirius and the map.

"You have your hands full with this one," Mad-Eye barks as a farewell. "Stay vigilant, Lupin."

And for a moment Remus can't tell whether he's talking about Tonks, or the assignment. Upon further consideration, Remus decides it doesn't really matter and he chuckles as he hears Sirius surrender the map to Tonks after she threatens to pull his throat out his navel.

The following day they Apparate to the appointed hill-top where the supposed exchange will take place. Tonks is the first to arrive, Remus landing next her seconds later.

"Oh, Merlin, it's so warm here! And there's no snow!" she all but squeals, face turned to the sky in unadulterated joy.

Remus looks around. There's blue sky in every direction, as pure and endless as the sea on a long summer's day.

"I could get used to this," Tonks says, arms outstretched, like she's trying to absorb as much of the sun as she can. "Might have to consider a job transfer someday."

Remus casts her a side-long glance, surprised to find that she's doing the same. Their eyes meet, just a brief flicker, before Tonks shrugs and says, "You know, maybe someday after the war."

She slips by his side, her arm brushing his, as she climbs to the highest point of the rolling, grass hill.

"What are you doing?" he calls after her as she deposits her trench coat on the hill and her shoes. It's warm here, he'll agree. But her shoes?

"What does it look like, Remus? I'm rolling down this hill." There's a frenzy of excitement on her face.

"Why?" is all he can think to say as he stares on, mouth open like a codfish.

"Because I feel like rolling down this hill, that's why." She looks up at him again, eyes wide and smoky blue, like the clouds above. "Don't you ever just feel like doing something? Like if you don't, right at that second, you'll burst?"

He doesn't know what to say, just stares expectantly.

Finally she takes pity on him―the mild mannered professor, looking completely out of his element―and takes his hand, dragging him towards the edge of the slope. There are wildflowers sprung up and bright yellow weeds and the grass is sweet and new and uncut. This is a child's paradise.

She squeezes his hand with both of hers, bottom lip caught between her smile.

Remus is endlessly fascinated by her; by the way she flops down by his feet, the grass tickling her face, the folded hem of her jumper riding up just above the top of her jeans, revealing the alabaster skin beneath.

"Sometimes you just have to go for it, Remus."

She smiles at him one more time, a brilliant, blinding flash against the sun and then she's gone.

He watches as she twirls and spins, kicking up pollen and flower heads in her wake―a complete blur. She stops at the bottom and he realizes he's been holding his breath. After a moment she stands, hands in her back pockets; she looks up at him and he can tell she's smiling―dizzying, dazzling―even from all the way up here. Then she turns with a pop; with another she lands beside him, clinging to his arm.

"Come on," she says. "It's a riot."

"Nymphadora, I don't think―"

"Really, Remus, live a little."

"Mad-Eye said they could arrive at any moment."

"Yes, and we'll be right here when they do. C'mon. Where's that inner Marauder Sirius is always going on about, huh?"

He raises an eyebrow in challenge. She matches it. "Well?" she asks, cheering when he shrugs out of his coat.

At the bottom of the hill he's dizzy with adrenaline and shock and a lingering sense of freedom that he hasn't felt since forever.

He's basking in it. In the warm sun on his face, his skin. The softness of the grass beneath him. The flurry of sweet smells.

Then an _oomph_ escapes his chest as her body collides with his, sprawling out over him like a blanket, a warm weight. He catches her hips and watches as her eyes flutter, adjusting to the blurring sensation. There's a cheeky grin on her face.

When she looks down at him, eyes focused, alert, they both break into a chorus of laughter. He can feel her laugh vibrate through his chest.

"See," she says. "I told you."

And his heart skips a beat and his fingertips burn where they touch her and that's when he knows; he's fallen for the girl who rolls in flowers.

He's fallen.

_Oh Merlin_ . . .

_Oh damn_ . . .

_Bugger it all._


	16. Chapter 16

December arrives too swiftly for Remus' liking and for the first time since he was at Hogwarts he finds himself wishing he could freeze himself in a moment of time; in a feeling; trapped forever with _her_.

The realization that he's fallen in love with Nymphadora Tonks sends whooping pockets of air galloping through his chest whenever she's near; whenever she spares him a cheeky grin over her shoulder; or when she sidles up beside him―unconsciously close― during late-night assignments.

After the day spent rolling down the hill, he knows he should have stopped this―whatever this was exactly―but the looping sensation in the pit of his stomach does little to deter his desire to be around her, even though it should.

He keeps this secret nestled alongside his heart, forever out of sight. Forever hidden. His to bear. His to carry. And his to beat uncontrollably loud in his ears when she laughs at one his off-handed remarks or stifles her drunken giggles at the expense of one of his terrible jokes.

He's been reasoning with himself more and more these days; weighing duty and feeling, hoping more and more each day that the scale remains balanced, for if it should tip too far in one direction, surely he'll lose something dear.

It all comes down to keeping his secret; keeping his cool.

As long as she has no idea of his feelings―that she remains blissfully ignorant to the motives behind their deepening friendship―he decides it's harmless enough. Maybe it's selfish on his part, but he'd miss her terribly should he try to push her from his life (he doesn't think he could at this point) and her friendship has come to mean something fierce to him. He can't afford to lose it. He can't bear it.

And besides, he's used to loving things that can really never love him back. Friends that were taken from him. A job that was taken from him. If loving her means she'll be taken from him, then he'll do everything in his power to make sure it's only ever her friendship that he asks for.

How could a smart, vibrant young woman like her ever fall for a shabby, impoverished werewolf like him anyway?

He has nothing to worry about, he decides, picking up his book again and diving back into the world of Mr. Darcy's unrequited love; it wasn't intentional, this read, but however appropriate it seems to be right now, the sting in Remus' chest only tightens.

"Remus!" Sirius calls through the house, snapping the sullen werewolf from his post-dinner reasoning. The sound of footsteps echo down the hall, towards the library.

"Yes?"

"Get off your lazy werewolf a-_ahhh_, Kreacher, don't lurk in the hallway! How many times have I said that?"

Sirius rounds the corner, looking slightly rattled, slightly miffed. He smoothes his hair down and collapses into a chair with a dramatic flair that rivals Ginny Weasley on her best days. "What are you doing cooped up in here all alone?"

"Foretelling your horoscope, obviously," Remus deadpans.

"Am I going to meet a tall dark stranger?"

"No."

Sirius clucks his tongue. "Didn't think so. I'm still not allowed out. Which is why . . ." he digs through his pockets, "I need you to do my Christmas shopping."

Remus sighs. "Leave it to you to wait last minute. Very well, then. Do you have a list?"

Sirius digs into his other pocket, brows furrowing when he comes up empty. He bites his lips for a moment then jumps to his feet. "Left it with Buckbeak. Be right back."

He pauses by the door, hand on the frame. "Oh, any ideas on what I should get Tonks? She's a woman, right? Should like all the usual womanly things?"

"H-how exactly should I know?" Remus asks, looking shocked that Sirius of all people would come to him concerning something in the nature of what to get a woman for Christmas.

"Well, I just figured this would have been something you'd have given a lot of thought to." Remus looks at him, evidently confused, and Sirius blows out a defeated breath, not quite managing to knock his head against the door frame. "Bollocks, Moony, you two really are making a career out of this, aren't you?"

* * *

It's two nights later, after a doozy of a snowstorm has turned London into an ice fortress, that Tonks finds Remus holed up in the Grimmauld Place library, attempting a suitable wrapping job on Sirius' gifts.

"Wotcher, Remus," she says.

"Tonks!" The surprise is evident in his voice and he drops the spell-o-tape on his foot.

It throbs rather painfully but he can't find it in himself to care at the moment. For the moment . . . _what is pain anyway?_

She's framed in the doorway: a dark silhouette dressed in . . . well, _wow_, he swallows, his throat so tight he almost chokes. She looks different. It's a good different, though. Not that he doesn't enjoy her normal different. But this is . . . _this is_ . . . he blinks at her.

_Is he breathing too fast?_

She walks into the room, defined in highs and lows, dips and planes and columns of firelight.

She's carrying a pair of strappy black heels in her hand, the kind that turn heads. They match the form-fitting black dress she has on. It hugs her bust and her hips and he's _staring_, down, down, down, those never-ending, long legs.

Oh _sweet Merlin_ is he ever staring.

He tries swallowing again, even going as far as to loosen his tie to help; it doesn't. His lips are dry, but he's drowning.

"Remus, are you okay? I'm not interrupting something am I?" she says, gesturing to the wrapping paper and bows littered across the room.

"No, uh . . ." He waves his arm dismissively over the table, pulling away with half the wrap job stuck to his hand―_bloody bows_―and coaches the next words from his mouth, "You really look terrific."

She shrugs, her smile warm and just a little crooked. "Work Christmas party. A drag. But Kingsley let me go early. Said I'd done my duty." She rolls her eyes. "Had to dance with half the department first."

Her hair's the same vibrant pink, a little longer than usual, curled down her back and pinned with a clip, but her eyes are green (festive maybe?) and her skin, well, there's a lot more of it showing than usual.

He likes this version of her very much. It's making him feel uncomfortable in a most exquisite way.

"That dress, it's um . . ."

"I know; not my usual thing. Mum leant it to me because _apparently _a jumper wasn't feminine enough, nor suitable for a work party." She shakes her head and stifles some sort of affectionate sigh. "She really should have had more kids: one's that would have conformed to her idea of girly."

"Yeah . . ." he says, though what he means to say is that she looks anything but girly in that dress. Remus pulls at the hair that's standing up on the back of his neck. With those curves and that neckline . . . and, well―

"Then she complained I don't visit enough, you know: like I'm going out of my way to avoid them. Usually that's dad's plight: this time he just tried to make me eat my weight in biscuits." Tonks huffs and her lips vibrate together. "They get a little clingy around the holidays."

He swallows, staring at her lips. They're a dark shade of red tonight, like wine. Her tongue darts out to moisten them and the sheen distracts him.

"Remus?"

"That's understandable," he says. "You know, them being parents and all."

She walks towards him then, next to the fire, where he's moved to out of some unforeseen need to do something. He's made a chore of fiddling with the garland on the mantelpiece. Her hips sway and his head tips with the movement, studying her. He barely registers when she stops moving; it's only because she speaks.

"Mistletoe," she says, eyes dancing above his head. "Did you?"

He's still just staring.

"Remus?"

_Answer you daft idiot?_

He shakes his head suddenly, eyes flicking up, then down. "Sirius has been hanging it everywhere. Plans to snog the whole damn house before holidays end, I think."

"Uh huh. Well, we should―" _Get back to work or whatever we were doing before this moment. Snog each other. No. Yes. Oh, bollocks. _She freezes in her skin; he's not backing away.

Her eyes flutter to his, to the deep, _deep_ blue that is no longer clear like the sea but darkened like the tide under a storm, pupils blown wide with desire. Her breath catches somewhere in her throat―he wants whatever's about to happen maybe even more than she does―and then escapes in a rush.

He can feel her breath on his lips and he so very much wants to taste it. Taste her.

She tilts her head a little, stifles a gasp as his hand wraps around her waist, stopping at her lower back, bunching in the fabric of her dress, feeling it ride up her hips a little more.

His head dips closer.

Her eyes flutter closed.

And then―

"Remus!" Sirius voice echoes. "Bloody hell, Remus, where are you!"

They jump away from each other, like a cauldron of scalding water has been poured between them.

Sirius barges into the room, an elephant on rampage, nearly pulling the door off its hinges.

"Oh good, Tonks, you're here, too. Arthur's been attacked! Come quick." He turns, then spares a second to look back at her in shock. "What the hell are you wearing?"

* * *

The rest of the holidays happen in a blur; quite literally. Arthur survives, the weather is terrible, Sirius is making her deaf with his onslaught of off-tune Christmas carols, Remus won't bloody well stand in the same room as her for more than two minutes, and there's so many redheads at Headquarters again that Tonks is beginning to morph unconsciously to look like a Weasley.

She doesn't _do_ red hair and freckles. It's not her thing.

She also doesn't consider herself a wrangler of under aged wizards, but someone has decided to trust her with the safe return of the children to Hogwarts after the Christmas holidays have ended.

Remus is paired with her, probably out of convenience seeing as everyone else has rather busy work schedules now that the festivities have come to a close, and though this gives her hope that they might have a normal conversation for the first time in two weeks, his abrupt, "We'll get them on the Nightbus first thing," leaves her feeling rather deflated as he escapes her company for his bedroom on the third floor for the second night in a row.

"What's gotten into his knickers?" Sirius asks her the second time around, gaging the puzzled look on her face.

"He's your friend," she murmurs. "You tell me why he suddenly won't talk to me. It's like I have Spattergroit or something."

"Let me get this straight: moody, irritable werewolf, going out of his way to avoid you . . . _darling_, that's easy. He's in love." Sirius folds his hands under his chin and looks expectantly at her.

She blinks owlishly, her heart doing flips against her ribs.

"Well?" he prods.

"Well what?" she asks, still trying to find her voice.

"What do you have to say for yourself? I've only been waiting to hear this for a couple months."

She flops down in a chair, gripping her knees. _He loves her?_ Could it be that the mild mannered professor had fallen for her clumsy, loud, oh so out-of-place self? Did he feel the same twisting in his gut when he looked at her? Hear the same _lub-dub_ in his ears when they were close?

She looks back at Sirius, speechless.

Sirius grabs the bridge of his nose. "I need a drink."

* * *

The following morning Remus has ushered the children out of the house, trunks and all.

The Nightbus arrives two minutes later, tires halting an inch away from Tonks' boots.

She climbs aboard after shepherding the children up the stairs, wand drawn and threatens the driver to make Hogwarts stop number one because she's flustered and so very confused about the strange, forced smiles Remus has been giving her this morning. His forced politeness, the way his hand shies away from her now: it's all very telling in a way that does not corroborate Sirius' grand exclamations last night, and though she expects Sirius could be very wrong in his assumptions, she's started to think that maybe―in a small, unexplainable kind of way―these sure-fired feelings she's developed for Remus have turned from like into love.

And she has absolutely no idea what to do with this information, especially considering said potential love interest will not pay her a second glance right now.

The ride to Hogwarts is stomach churching and tipsy; Tonks loses her balance several times and ends up seated next to an old Wizard with hearing trumpets stuffed in his ears.

When the bus settles to a stop with a final _bang_, she makes her way out the door and with Remus' help, escorts the children towards the castle gates. They bid them farewell, wish them luck, and when the gates close, turn to make their way back to Hogsmeade.

_Finally_, Tonks thinks. She'll be able to talk to him.

He stops a few paces behind her, his footsteps stilled against the _crunch, crunch_ of her boots in the snow.

She slows and turns towards him.

"I'll be seeing you," he says abruptly, like he's just remembered an appointment he's missing. Then he turns without as much as a smile in her direction and Apparates; the sudden _pop_ leaves her feeling empty.

Pondering and hollow.

And so, _so_ confused.

* * *

It's New Year's Eve and she's not as tipsy as she'd like to be.

The airy buzz she's been seeking doesn't creep up on her the way she expects and she starts to suspect it's because she's moping.

The kitchen is a flurry of boisterous activity―card games and booze and raucous laughter― but the one person she wants to see (the only person) hasn't bothered to make more than a thirty second appearance to wish everyone a collective _Happy New Year_ before disappearing for the night.

She gulps down the rest of her drink, earning a look from Sirius, which she promptly ignores.

She's tired of waiting around, tired of this back and forth.

All she wants to do is talk to Remus. Surely he's friend enough to spare her five minutes of his time.

Accepting the idea of having to knock on his door upstairs, of having to disturb him from his potential sleep, she leaves her glass in the sink. She can't go on like this forever; they can't.

She steels herself by downing some sort of sour tasting shot she's been handed by a frizzy-haired Mundungus and marches into the hall, surprisingly sure-footed.

Instead of having to migrate upstairs though, she lucks out and finds Remus tucked away in a darkened corner of the library, a book propped in front of his face.

"Wotcher," she says, quiet and mouse like, putting those infamous stealth skills to work as she sneaks up on him, determined to reach him before he has the chance to slip away again.

She notices his fingers clench around the book binding. Her heart speeds.

"Nymphadora," he replies, curt. Polite.

She sighs, letting that one go, because really, she has other things on her mind right now beside his infernal use of her given name. "You've been ignoring me since right before Christmas," she says instead of whatever ice breaker conversation she had originally planned. _Since our almost kiss_, she thinks.

"I haven't." Again, he's curt. Polite.

"But you have."

"I've just been busy."

"Yes," Tonks agrees, close enough now to flick the cover of his book. To see his eyes lift above the page and catch her own. He looks almost sheepish under her questioning gaze. "Much too busy to respond to any of my Owls, I suppose."

"I'm sorry. I―"

She shakes her head and with a gentle, but firm hand, pushes the book down away from his face. "Please don't lie to me, Remus. I thought you valued my friendship more than that?"

She wounds him with her words and he wants to pass out from how lousy he feels about the whole sodding situation. Mainly because she's wearing a purple-knit jumper that Molly made her and he wants to kiss her and because she's just standing there staring at him and he still wants to kiss her, but he can't.

"I do," he says. "Of course, I do."

"Well, it hasn't really seemed that way these last few weeks. You've done an awful lot to ignore me."

"I didn't mean for it to be that way."

"Then what did you mean?"

"What happened before Christmas, or, er, what didn't happen really, it's not something, it isn't . . ." He rubs the back of his neck, head falling back like a weight.

"Is this because I almost kissed you?" she ventures. "Because you wanted to kiss me, too?"

"It's just . . . when I realized that you felt as I did, that I had let things develop that far . . . I just couldn't."

"Couldn't what Remus?" She tips her head to see him better. "Kiss me?"

"_Want_ to kiss you," he mutters. "Let you _want_ to kiss me."

"I'm not sure you have a lot of say in who I want to kiss exactly. And it didn't exactly look like you minded that night. Unless I'm completely bonkers."

"Nymphadora, it's not what you think it is. People will wonder why, you know. How something like me could ever stand next to someone like you. You'll be teased. Harassed for the association. I couldn't do that to you."

"Is that what you see me as, Remus? Army candy? Something to distract from who you are?"

"No, of course not. That's not what I meant."

"I should hope not," she says, turning away from him.

"I'm a werewolf," he says, standing and abandoning his book on the sofa. "A dark creature. Old and poor and part of a crowd that is still very much shunned by regular wizards."

"I don't care."

"Nymphadora—"

She spins towards him. "No, don't Nymphadora me. You're not slipping out of it this time. How you can think so little of yourself is beyond me. But the fact you think so little of me is, well . . . I feel rather offended to tell you the truth. The man I've fallen in love with is sweet and kind and charming and yes, he turns into a werewolf once a month, and yes that is a potentially dangerous prospect, but one that we will learn to work around. One we have been working around." She pauses for breath, and to steady herself, because the alcohol is finally catching up with her and the pleasant buzz she had hoped for has turned into a fiery heat that is going to manifest itself as a headache tomorrow morning. She holds the wall for support, even though he is reaching out to steady her. But she doesn't want his help or his pity. "You think I'm some naïve school girl playing pretend."

"I don't," he says, looking properly ashamed as his cheeks flush. "Far from it."

"Well, that's news to me since you seem to think you're too old and poor and dangerous for me."

"I _am_ all those things."

"I don't care about any of those things. Don't you see? I care about you and I thought you cared about me."

"I just want what's best—"

She grabs his hand in hers, pulling his focus to her face. "Let _me_ decide what's best for me."

"Nymphadora—"

"Merlin, Remus. Stop calling me that! And stop this!" She pulls away, hands flung up into her hair; her dark red hair.

Remus blinks. When had that happened?

"If you think acting like some noble prat is going to change my feelings than you are sorely mistaken." She swallows, biting back the tears as he whispers the words _can't_ and _shouldn't. _"You're impossible you know."

"I'm sorry."

"You're apologizing for destroying something we both want?"

She turns around again and his thumb traces her cheek. She can't even look at him.

"For hurting you," he says. "I never wanted that. I never should have—"

"Stop," she whispers. "Don't say it like falling for me was a mistake." She turns away from him then, stumbling around the armchair. She's bulldozing through the library door before he can say anything else; before he can give her any more excuses.

She runs into Sirius in the front hall. Her eyes are already shining and he tries to stop her, but she's too upset to let even his good nature cheer her up. "Sorry," she mutters by way of apology and then she's gone.

* * *

She gets as far as the park they once walked Sirius in before she has to stop because the pain twisting in her chest is too much and she's worried about splinching if she tries to Apparate while her emotions are out of control.

She settles on a bench, pulling her coat around her shoulders.

Against the streetlight a shadow creeps up behind her, large and wiry: Sirius.

"You shouldn't be here," she tells him. "Dumbledore will have a cow. But why would you listen to me? Why would anything I have to say be of any concern?"

He's turned into the great black dog to follow her outside, trying to coax her out of her melancholy with his indulgent whimpering.

Sirius nudges her arm, whining, before climbing up beside her, resting his head on her shoulder.

She gives him a pat behind the ears. "Men are prats," she says. "You're lucky you're a dog right now."

* * *

"Is it a werewolf thing?" Sirius asks, flopping down next to Remus on the sofa, drink in his hand. He knocks the book away. It lands on the floor, jacket creased. "The desire to bugger it all up?"

"Not now," Remus says. It's nearing one in the morning. New Year's has officially come and gone. The party has gone. _She _has gone. They are alone.

"Why not? Seems to me like you've got nothing but time on your hands now. It's really not all bad, you know. You can be a little selfish, Moony. Take what good's offered your way. She'd be good for you and you know it."

"That's why I can't let it happen. Because I had good once. Remember Pads? We both did. And look what happened. James and Lily and Peter and you and my parents. Gone. Everything."

"And how do you think you're going to feel when she moves on?" Sirius asks. "When she falls for some other bloke? When she can't stand to be in the same room as the man who broke her heart?"

Remus doesn't answer.

"You're still going to feel alone."

"I can't subject her to my life."

"That's her decision to make. And as far as I can see it, things aren't so bad. Yeah, we're at war. Yeah, you go bonkers once a month, but everyone's got problems. Even furry ones."

"What do I have to offer her exactly, Sirius?"

He's silent for a moment. Takes a swig of his drink, watching the ice spin along the bottom of the glass. "Exactly what she wants, is what. And if you'd pull your head out of your ass for half a moment you'd realize you're all she's asking for and it's enough."


	17. Chapter 17

The news that Hestia Jones is holed up in St. Mungo's for three days having taken a series of stunners to the back following a close call at a known Death Eater hideout is what greets Tonks the next meeting.

It's not much of a hideout considering the Order knows the location, how many members currently reside there, and were planning on taking the ring down prior to being outed by an ill-timed Patronus arriving from Mundungus to tell Hestia he would be late for his shift, but still, it's a cave and Tonks thinks caves classify as hideouts regardless of how many people know their location and use.

Because of this, though, it's during this meeting that Mad-Eye expresses the desire for the Order to brush up on their basic defense skills.

"You want us to duel?" Sirius scoffs, swirling the finger of amber liquid around his glass. He nudges Remus with his arm.

He looks completely dazed.

"I want you to be prepared. And when I said I'd like you to brush up I really meant that it's not optional. The lounge on the second floor should be big enough if we shrink down some of the furniture."

"Right now?" Tonks says. She looks up, stopping the assault of her fingernails against the table top.

"Yes, now," Mad-Eye says. "Or would everyone prefer to wait until after the Death Eaters have attacked?"

"At least wait until daylight," Sirius says

"I doubt you'll be any more sober then."

"Very true. Carry on then. If anyone happens to blast my mother's portrait from the wall we'll consider this a success."

They trudge up the stairs, one at a time, and assemble in the dimly lit room. Molly and Arthur collect in a corner, speaking is hushed tones. Sirius downs the rest of his drink, grumbling incoherently to himself.

Mad-Eye moves about the room, casting a sweeping charm that leaves the space considerably brighter and devoid of furniture. "Sirius pair off with Kingsley," he barks. "Dung, no get back here . . . wait over there. I'll deal with you. Tonks. Lupin. Pair up."

"I―"

"Uh―"

"Just like you did at school. On my count," Mad-Eye says. "One. Two. Three!"

The room is full of garbled words and conjured shouts: jets of light, pops, zaps, laughs and swears.

Remus doesn't move a muscle.

He just stares at Tonks, unable to look anywhere else without looking out of place, but still, it's the first time he's truly allowed himself to look at her in days; it leaves him sort of breathless. He's been doing his damnedest to avoid her―the heavy, questioning stares, the timid, unsure smiles―anything that will mean they are directly alone.

He's been using Sirius like a buffer between them. A shield. But now he can't, seeing as Kingsley has Sirius tap dancing against the wall.

"Lupin, Tonks! Something wrong with your wands?" Mad-Eye growls across the room.

Remus blinks, noticing for the first time that Tonks' wand is raised, pointing at his chest, her stance defensive, but she's yet to utter a single spell.

"Lift your wand," she mutters, her lips barely moving.

Remus shakes his head. "Tonks―"

"Again," Mad-Eye shouts. "One. Two. Three!"

She takes a step closer, arm twitching, hand clenching around her wand. Again she doesn't cast.

And again he feels the weight of his wand in his hand, but doesn't move.

"This won't work if you don't raise your wand, Remus!"

"Having troubles over here?"

"Sod off, Sirius," she says.

"Black, resume position," Mad-Eye growls. "Again on three. One."

Tonks' lip curls as she speaks. "Remus, raise your bloody wand or so help me―"

"Two."

"―I'll do more than just jinx you."

He does this time, maybe out of some internal instinct for self-preservation, or because her eyes have turned a dangerous shade of red.

"Three."

"Expelliarmus," he says.

She raises her wand and casts a shield charm between them. Her eyebrow hooks along her hairline as she glares incredulously. "I'm not some daft prat, Remus. I'm an Auror. You can hit me with more than a disarming spell."

"I never meant to insinuate that you were."

"I'm not going to break."

"Nymphadora, perhaps it would be best―"

But she's heard enough. If he's going to act like this, treat her like a doll, then she'll just have to prove him otherwise.

"One. Two. Three."

She casts a jinx that makes him stumble back, some invisible hook grabbing him behind the navel. His spell misses her by an executed inch. "You did that on purpose," she says.

She casts again. This time he deflects it.

"Was that so hard?" she says.

"I don't want to―"

"What? Hurt me? How could you? You've barely put any effort into it."

Something in her tone stings and he wonders if she's meant it to. Meant it to relate to more than just their duel.

When she casts this time her charm hits his shoulder and sends a vibration down his arm that shakes his wand from his hand; he bends to pick it up.

"You're not even trying," she says.

His eyes narrow.

"Don't treat me like I can't handle it."

"Fine," he says. He casts this time, before Mad-Eye has counted down, catching her off guard. The charm is mild, a diluted form of a stronger one he knows, but she winces as it passes through her body, her lips pulled tight against the currents.

She moans. It's a painful, gasping type of sound and immediately he regrets it.

"Tonks, I'm sor―"

"Don't," she says, sucking in breath.

". . . two. Three!"

She rallies and casts again. He blocks it. The shield drops and a tingling sensation starts in his jaw, spreading down to his wrist, leaving his fingers clenched.

When it lifts he throws a hex her way, bolting her legs to the floor. She sways, attempting to regain her balance, tipping further and further. Before she hits the ground, she twirls her wand and a jet of purple light catches him in the stomach. He doubles over, panting.

Tonks feels the spell on her feet lift.

The pain fades from Remus' gut.

They look up, across.

They're both dishevelled and breathing heavily. Remus clutches a stitch in his side. Tonks stands, shaking pink strands of hair from her face, eyes a bright, vibrant green. Wild and alive.

Beautiful.

Remus swallows convulsively. His heart beats against his chest. _Lub-dub, lub-dub_. His eyes drop to her lips: rosy pink, parted slightly as she pants.

He wants to kiss her; feels that same surge of desire flow through his chest like that night before Christmas.

Something painful registers in her face and he's entirely sure it has nothing to do with the duel and everything to do with how easily she reads him now; how vulnerable his emotions are to her.

"That's enough for tonight," Mad-Eye says.

Remus steps forward, hand outstretched and shaking. Reaching as Tonks straightens herself. _What is he doing?_

"I have to go," Tonks says suddenly, spinning away from him: that same hurt in her eyes. She's very sure of the want she's seen on his face and it's almost enough to make her break down right there.

Before, when she had told him, and he'd denied her, she thought maybe he was really just trying to let her down easy, trying to use the old _it's not you it's me_ thing on her. That maybe he just really didn't _like_ her like that. And maybe the enforced space he seemed to be continuing between them really was for her own good until she could find some way to deal with her feelings.

But then he looks at her like _that, _breathless and starry-eyed_, _and she knows it's all a lie. He wants her just as much as she wants him.

And the fact that he's fighting so hard against it leaves her winded.

"Nymphadora―"

She doesn't stop, doesn't turn to him and perhaps it's for the best. He's not sure what he wants to say yet.

He just knows he needs to say something.

But he can't.

What he _wants _to say . . . and what he _needs_ to say, well, they're two completely different things right now.

* * *

He still doesn't know what he wants to say exactly.

But more days go by and he misses her like he's never missed anything in his life. And it's because of this that he tries to talk to her, hoping, if nothing else, that they can just go back to what they were.

"You're avoiding it," she says, leaning against the wall, one foot acting as a perch, her arms crossed square over the hacked-off weird sister's tee.

"I'm not avoiding it," he says. He _is_ avoiding it though. And her, too, now that he sees how complicated he's made it. He's especially trying not to look at the appealing way her shirt squeezes her midriff, patches of creamy skin teasing at her hips.

"Then you're _purposely_ ignoring it. What you feel." She follows him down the hall because he hasn't stopped to talk. "Why? Give me a better reason than too poor, too old, too dangerous. I've already told you what I think of them."

"Look, Nymphadora—" He stands at the bottom of the stairs, hand on the railing.

"Don't call me that." Her voice is pale and colourless. There's no fight in the broken whisper and he knows he's the reason.

Remus sighs, takes a step, waits for her to speak again; she doesn't.

He waits another moment before continuing up the stairs. It takes everything he has, every ounce of self-control not to look back at her; he doesn't want to see the hurt reflected in her eyes. The hurt that he's put there in his own selfish pursuit.

He sighs again when he reaches the top of the stairs. His desire to turn is stronger than ever, even just for a moment, just long enough to tell her he feels every bit the same way and the only reason he's working so hard to ignore her is because she deserves better than him.

He wants more for her.

More than he can ever be.

But he can't say those things anymore, not without making this thing—this untouchable, unreadable, dangerous thing—very much real. Admitting to her that his feelings have moved well beyond platonic friendship would be selfish. He could give her more than that at least. He could give her the very best of himself as friends. And friends did not kiss friends. They did not think about friends at all hours of the night. They did not desire warm smiles and soft touches and hot breath. They did not . . . did not . . . _did not_.

He couldn't.

He ducks into the bathroom, nudging the door closed with his foot, and sets the hot water at maximum in the shower, turning the cubicle room into a steam-bath.

A shower. A nap. Clear his mind. Forget about her is what he's really telling himself, but the harder he tries, the more her words persist, and he's wondering all the more how she was really looking at him as he walked away.

Standing under the rush off water, letting it pound against his flesh, all he wants is to know that she's not upset with him. Though how could she not be? It's their thing, he thinks. She confides in him. Asks of him. And he denies her. He hurts her.

Another weighted sigh. That's all he can manage under the stream of water.

Suddenly the curtain ruffles, a cold swamp of air catching his shins, and he turns to look over his shoulder. And she's there in the shower stall; fully clothed, looking at him, face shining with water and steam, eyes swimming.

"Nympahdora! What!"

"It's Tonks," she says and then she's on him, face pressed to his, lips closing around his in a burning kiss. Wet. Hot. But it's so much more than a kiss. It's a searing of lips. Her breath is fire and she sucks the air from his lungs and pushes it back in. His hands fall against the shower wall, on either side of her head, the water hot against his back, the tile freezing beneath his palms.

She wraps her hands around his neck, fingers slipping, sliding.

He presses against her.

Her hands move from his neck, to his chest, down, down, playing with the muscles on his abdomen, stroking, stroking.

She swallows his groan and he pulls back.

Her lashes bat, swatting the water from her eyes. He's breathing hard, like an elephant's on his chest, like it might explode.

There's no more thinking, just feeling, and he wants to string his hands through her hair, but he doesn't. He can't pull them off the wall. He's just breathing her in, her sweet cherry scent and the smell of vanilla in her hair.

She tips her head, her fingers skimming the length of his jaw, the short hairs that scruff over his chin. "At least I can say I gave it my best shot," she says to him.

Then she ducks under his arm and disappears in a cloud of steam.

* * *

"Oi! Why are you all wet?" Sirius cocks an eyebrow at her, then past the stuffed house-elf heads, and up the stairs where he can still hear the water running. "Something I should know?"

The front door slams and Tonks is gone.

Ten minutes later Remus walks down the stairs, ruffling his still wet hair.

"Oi, you just shower? With my baby cousin?"

"Stop calling her that," Remus growls.

"Why? Did you get up to a certain something with my _baby_ cousin in the shower?"

"You don't want to know," Remus says, marching past him and into the library. He waves his arm and the doors slam behind him.

Sirius follows, breaking the charm with a flick of his wand.

"Sirius!" Remus shouts.

"Well, learn to use a stronger charm then, Moony!"

* * *

Tonks paces the floor of her flat, chewing her nails down to the beds.

_She's cheated_, she thinks, _but bollocks_, if he was going to make her put it all on the line to get him to notice her―not his fear of what they could be, but her, her devotion, her strength, her resoluteness that she doesn't care about what he is, the way he sees himself―then she's done about all she can.

Perhaps cornering the man in the shower wasn't the best way to go about it. Not the reserved, bookish werewolf, who was quite naked and probably mortified.

_I kept my eyes above the waist_, she assures herself as she pours a cup of tea, spills it, and mops it up with the hem of her sleeve. It wasn't that bad.

And he'd kissed her back. He had. Very deliberately. She touches her lips with the tips of her fingers. They tingle in response. She fights the smile.

_He_ was the one being difficult after all. He was the one who made her go to such extremes.

Maybe it had been childish.

Maybe he should have just used a stronger charm to seal the door if he didn't want company.

Maybe she was in too deep for a man that was doing everything in his power to push her away.

Maybe she was an idiot.

"Merlin," she sighs, curling up on her couch, face buried in her jumper. "I've made a muck-up of things."

* * *

_She's cheated_, Remus thinks to himself, pacing the length of the library, stepping over Sirius who has planted himself firmly in the center of the room with a fresh glass of whiskey, a lopsided grin on his face. Remus wants to hex him.

"Come on, Moony, it can't have been that bad."

_Oh yes it had been_, Remus thinks, hands tucked at the base of his spine, shoulders hunched as he moves. She can't just do that. When he's vulnerable and naked! Completely and utterly starkers. Just sneak up on him and . . . _and_ kiss him like that! His heart races. His blood boils. Kiss him the way he's wanted to kiss her for so long. So very, very long.

His neck is hot. His lips tingle.

She'd been so warm beneath him. Sweet smelling. Open to him. Wanting.

He can feel himself breaking, the resolve trickling out of him like a boat with a hole, inch by inch.

He wants whatever they can be. He does. But he doesn't deserve it. Not her. No.

Remus feels like a mess and Sirius has the audacity to tell him so, tugging on his pant leg so Remus is forced to sit.

"She's fighting so hard," Sirius says. "We all are. It's a war." He pulls at the stray fibers in the liquid black carpet beneath him. "Did you ever stop to think that maybe this should be one of those things she shouldn't have to fight so hard for?"

And there it was, Remus thinks. The impossibly practical truth of it all. And in his gut, the small space where he lets his emotions run free, he knows he wants it to be the truth. Why should he deny her when she wants him? Just him. The way he is. Monster and all.

_You're not a monster, he hears her chastise._

_Just your furry little problem, he hears James say._

_You're one of the best men I've ever known, Remus. Thank you for being my friend. Lily's eyes well up as she holds his hand, takes a steadying breath, preparing to go through those doors, the ones that hold James on the other side, clad in his tux._

"I've said it before and I'll say it again: if you'd pull your head out of your ass for half a second you'd figure out that she only wants you." Sirius pushes himself to his feet, staggering a little more than he was when they started this conversation. "You and all your eccentricities."

"But what if . . ." Remus swallows. "What if down the line she figures out that I _am_ only me and that she wants―that she could have―so much more?"

Sirius pauses by the door and throws a mane of black hair over his shoulder. "But what if she doesn't?" He grins then and says, "Anyway, you know us Blacks. Stubborn as stone when it's something we care about."

Remus watches him go, and then stares at that empty space for a long moment, a moment in which a smile creeps onto the side of his face, silent, unassuming, and then he's grinning like a fool. Maybe she would realize that she's much too good for him. Maybe she really would one day.

_But maybe, just maybe, she wouldn't._

* * *

The next morning Remus rises with a weightlessness in his chest. He's resolved to tell her how he feels, _no_, not how he feels exactly, because he knows she knows, but that he thinks, if she'll still have him, that he'd like to try to see where a relationship might go.

Only she doesn't come to Headquarters that day or the next and by the end of the week, when Molly holds dinner for the Order, she's still nowhere to be found. Sirius is as anxious as him about the whole situation; he misses his drinking partner. And Remus is bursting with all the unsaid things that are eating him alive, like someone has released a flesh eating slug upon his insides.

He finds Kingsley that evening, half way through his cabbage rolls, in the corner of the kitchen, a stack of parchment still tucked under his arm.

"Remus," he says with a nod and a swallow, passing off the parchments. "Mad-Eye asked me to give you these. They're routes around Hogwarts. He wants an Order presence set up on the outskirts in the near future. Thinks you might have some insight concerning the grounds and Hogsmeade. Mentioned something about a map?"

Remus smiles a gentle, nostalgic smile. "I believe the map he's referring to is no longer in my possession, but I'll have a look. Sirius might be able to help me out."

"Good, good," Kingsley says. Another swallow. "How've you been keeping? Severus still producing the Wolfsbane for you?"

"Yes, every month," Remus says.

"I only ask because," his eyes flick to Sirius across the room, "I know how temperamental Severus can be. And I know quite a few gifted potion makers, so if you need it from somewhere else, just don't hesitate to ask."

"I appreciate that, Kingsley, but as long as Dumbledore is around I daresay Severus will make the potion, grudgingly or not."

Kingsley nods with a murmured, "Good man, that Dumbledore." He looks up from his bowl again, a sterner look on his face. "Never can be too careful now, though. Might want to keep a backup in mind. Just in case. Even Tonks could do it, you know. Phenomenal potions marks coming out of Hogwarts―"

"Really?" Remus says. "I never would have―"

"Yeah," Kingsley says quickly, "people assume that, you know, cause she's so young, that the only reason she's in the department is because she's a Metamorphagus. But you know, she knocked me on my ass first day of training with a body-bind that I can still feel when she looks sidelong at me."

He chuckles and Remus does too. He's never doubted Nymphadora Tonks was a powerful witch. Not to mention resourceful.

"She's talented," Kingsley says. "And fiercely loyal. Not one you want to mess around with."

Remus hears something decidedly protective in Kingsley's voice and his stomach flips, knowing she's so well cared for by the Order, by her co-workers. It gives him hope, that even in these terrible times, that she will make it out okay. But he also detects a hint of warning in Kingsley's voice and his sigh is met with a threaded smile.

"I have no intention of messing around with her, if that is your concern."

"It's really none of my business, what's between you two, but _she_ is my business. I work with her every day and I don't like to see her out of sorts."

"Did Moody set you up to have the talk with me?" Remus asks, grinning a little into his mug.

Kingsley shrugs. "I offered. Moody likes to hex first, ask questions later. You know." He trails off, then says, "She's been working doubles all week."

"I've noticed," Remus says. "I've been meaning to talk to her but she's hasn't been by Headquarters."

"You know there are owls for that sort of thing. And if you want to make a big gesture there's a Hippogriff in the attic."

Remus chuckles and Kingsley smiles.

"I think this is more the sort of thing I should say in person."

"I'll try to send her by soon then," Kingsley says. "On some unavoidable Order business."

Remus nods his appreciation. "That would be lovely. Thank you."

* * *

Tonks doesn't come by though, even though she means to. Remus aside, there's still Sirius to consider and Molly and the two meetings she's missed in the last two weeks, but Scrimgeor has her out tracking a known Mummy who's been dealing in the dark arts and she's been far too undercover to risk venturing outside of the dour village she's been staking out in. She has to Owl Sirius to take her off the guard duty roster three times, to which he reminds her in his scrawly penmanship that she's turning down duties with Remus.

She knows this in the back of her mind and tells herself to stop rereading Sirius' replies.

The longer she stays away though, the more she thinks about Remus and the way they left things, and she wonders if she should have sent an apology by way of owl, but now it's been too long. If she sends it now it'll just seem stupid and she'll still look like a git.

But she doesn't know how she's going to face him at the next meeting either, and because of it gets herself wrapped up in a Muggle Affairs problem that crosses Scrimgeor's desk when a prominent muggle family shows up dead in their home. No forced entry. No signs of foul play.

By the time the investigation is wrapped up and she's dragged herself to her parents for a visit and then to bed for two solid days of rest, she awakes to find her vision hazy. As she blinks, taking in the dusky surroundings, she realizes she's staring through the pearly remains of a stalking lioness Patronus. The voice of Molly Weasley fills the room as she all but begs Tonks to stay for dinner after the meeting because everyone has missed their favourite ray of sunshine.

It makes her smile, despite the nerves it stirs in her chest because of who she knows is bound to be there. She's never had people who depend on her like this, even if it's just for her chit chat and amazing alcohol tolerance.

"Well, never a better time," she says, dragging herself out of bed and sliding into a pair of fuzzy purple slippers. Her hair is a matching shade when she looks in the mirror. She's got tomorrow off, so if she talks to Remus and makes an utter fool of herself she can whip up a forgetfulness potion and spend tomorrow sleeping off the memory.

That idea, however ludicrous it really is, seems to settle her stomach enough for her to choke down some toast before getting started on organizing the files she has spent the last month lifting from the Ministry.

It's her first Order meeting in four weeks and they're going to be expecting at least that from her. She shoves away the scraps of parchment that litter her desk, some of them owls from Remus himself inquiring as to when her next visit to Headquarters will be. She feels slightly guilty about leaving them unanswered, but the truth of the matter is she just didn't know until now as to when that would be.

Sorting paperwork and transcribing the abhorrent penmanship of some of the scribes takes her most of the day and as the light in her flat fades, pulling lines of brilliant sunlight across her table, she realizes she's about to be late for the meeting.

Rushing around her flat, she throws a cable-knit jumper over the fluorescent weird sister's tee and stumbles into a pair of jeans. Cloak and files under her arm, she Apparates to number twelve Grimmauld Place, reminding herself to breath as she steps inside and is greeted in a bone crushing hug by her cousin.

When she catches her reflection in the hall mirror she realizes she didn't even take the time to morph away the purple that leaves her looking so peaky, but Sirius has already disappeared down the hall with her files and she's already late so she hangs up her cloak and decides it'll have to do.

When Remus sees her slipping into the kitchen, his heart skips a beat. Her hair's purple, a change from the usual happy pink and he wonders if she's feeling alright. There are bags under her eyes, but she smiles merrily at Molly as she slips in next to Mad-Eye at the table. There's just enough colour in her cheeks when she's called upon to speak. He smiles in what he hopes is a reassuring way but as her eyes scan the table they are careful to avoid his.

He spends most of the meeting trying to catch her eye but she's determined not to look at him, even when Sirius starts asking nonsensical questions to pull her gaze down to their end of the table.

_Nice try, Padfoot_, he thinks.

When the meeting finishes he has half a mind to hurdle the table and jump in front of her as she rises from her chair. There is a mass of movement as the Order stands to stretch, exchange other less dour news, and get in line for Molly's famous beef stew, but he hears the elder Weasley call out for Tonks, who seems to be making a mad dash for the door.

Tonks throws an apologetic look in Molly's direction, claiming she really can't stay, that she's got work. Remus feels his heart race, like his only chance is slipping away. If the look he gets from Sirius isn't enough to get him out of his chair, then the maddening look he gets from Kingsley is.

He stands so quickly he almost topples Molly who would have dumped stew in his lap if it wasn't for Sirius' quick wand work. He brushes off her apologies and with all eyes on him, the usual refined werewolf, sprints from the room, chasing after Nymphadora.

She's not there getting ready to leave when he arrives but his ears are keen so close to the moon and he hears the light tinkling sound of her voice. Moody's pulled her aside in the library, discussing some sort of assignment. He smiles, wondering if the old Auror knew exactly what he was doing, heading her off, or if this is just one of those weird twists of fate.

He's waiting for her in the front hall, sitting on the bottom step of the staircase; it's dark. Completely pitch black and he hears as she knocks the umbrella stand, swearing under her breath. It makes him smile. Just that little bit. Then her shadow appears, grey on black, and his smile shrinks. He's missed her terribly. "You've been avoiding me."

"Not avoiding." She doesn't make any motion to acknowledge him and he suspects she knew he was here, waiting for her, the entire time. She takes her cloak off the post by the door and fastens it around her neck.

Remus stands, towering over her in the darkness, his hands just inches from her, and it is only then that she stills, her breath escaping in a shallow gasp.

"You've had the roster changed four times," he says gently.

"Work stuff."

"Blew off Molly's dinners."

Her head falls a little; she's looking at her shoes. "Had to see my parents."

"Been making excuses."

She says nothing, but bites her lip and her head falls back. She stares at the ceiling now, up, up, up, to the very height of Grimmauld Place; Buckbeak's roost and Sirius' escape. He wonders if she's planning her own escape, or if her thoughts are merely too heavy right now.

Remus puts a gentle hand on her shoulder, encouraging her to turn, to face him. She does, though she does not meet his eyes, instead staring at his chest, like she might be able to burrow inside it with her gaze. "You know, for a woman who followed me into the shower I figured you'd have more to say," he prompts, his tone friendly, even a little teasing. He wants to get things back to the way they were at the very least. He knows he's been an ass and he owes her a multitude of apologies. But if she'll give him nothing more of herself, he's at least hoping for the small bits he had before.

"I think that's the problem," she says finally. "I have nothing else to say."

"Perhaps you said it all then. That night."

She shrugs, pushes her hands a little deeper into her cloak pockets. "Maybe."

"And you haven't given me a chance to respond this time."

Her eyes lift curiously. "What do you want to say?"

"Just this." He leans in, grabs her cloak collar, and presses his lips to hers. It's gentle, but no less exhilarating than the shower kiss. He feels the blood pound in his ears.

"Is this your apology?" she murmurs against his lips, hands pressed against his chest..

"I'm working on it." His lips brush hers again. "You know, I'm not going to get over this tonight, or tomorrow, or even next week. I'm still going to worry."

"I know."

He tips his head and trails his lips along her jaw. Whispering. "But I'm willing to give it a shot, if you still want to?"

All she can do is sigh in response, but he feels her nod in the darkness and his heart soars.


	18. Chapter 18

Nymphadora Tonks is in love.

She's in love with a man who's a little bit in love (or a lot really) with her too, and that makes the flutter of her heart all the more curious and breathless.

Love is a funny thing, she thinks.

Before this, when the feelings were bottled up, she never held a second thought about being alone with Remus or seeing him after meetings, but now that the bottle is open and spilled, her emotions running wild, she finds herself consumed with thoughts of him.

Now that moments alone after a meeting mean soft words mumbled into her hair as he ties her cloak around her shoulders so she can Apparate home, and hours spent alone on her days off mean retiring to the Grimmauld Place library where he scoops her into his arms and they sit tangled on the sofa while he teases her with soft kisses, she can't help but think of him.

It's all been a thrilling whirlwind and though it's only been a few weeks, Tonks feels like they're trying to make up for all the unresolved months they spent tip-toeing around their feelings for each other.

She's seen Remus more now than she ever has; minus of course the few days around the full moon because she hasn't been able to budge him on that, but it's understandable, and still she feels like it's not enough.

They're still trying to keep things quiet, so it's not exactly like she can launch across the table during meetings and kiss him senseless the way she wants to, and it's not like they aren't professional when they're assigned a mission together, but she's not complaining.

As long as she gets to see him―in any degree or capacity―it's worth it.

And right now seeing him is one of the only things keeping her sane, especially with the recent Muggle killings that have been plastered all over the Prophet.

The Death Eaters aren't doing anything to cover their trail this time, making the crimes all the more gruesome, and she's taken to showing up at Grimmauld Place at odd hours of the morning for some sort of refuge from the nightmares.

Somehow Remus always knows when she's there, even if she's sure he's asleep upstairs. It might be his hearing, so acutely tuned to the sound of her tripping over the umbrella stand now, though how he hears it over Sirius' snoring is another mystery entirely. Still, she appreciates the sleepy conversation and the tea he always makes sure to steep extra-long for her, knowing she's going to work with little-to-no sleep.

So, it's with a long, loud yawn that she arrives in her cubicle, half dressed in the clothes from yesterday, a tea stain on her sleeve, and a serious backlog of reports to catch up on.

It's through the muted insomnia fog that she notes something's different. She senses it right away, even if it takes her eyes a moment to pick it out.

And then she does.

The flowers. She finds them on her desk, arranged in a neat little vase; crystal, catching the light just so and sending a rainbow of colour dancing along the wall.

The bouquet is wild and full of greens, accompanied by thick yellow petals and skinnier white flowers that sprout out like little puffs of cloud.

She leans over to smell them. They smell like the hill, that day in Egypt. _He didn't_, she thinks, standing and smiling to herself. Had he really gone back? Just for these? Just for her?

"Someone's got an admirer."

Tonks look over in time to see Chavers lean against the cubicle wall, head hung over his arm in a dopey kind of fashion.

"I do not."

"You're blushing."

"Bugger off, Chavers."

"Does this mean if I have flowers sent to you you'll blush like that?"

"Don't you dare," Tonks says, pulling her wand on him. When he takes the hint and settles into his chair, carefully avoiding her eyes, she lets the grin creep back on her face and takes another whiff.

Her head dances with dizzy delight and a warmth tingles through her veins. She takes the vase, fills it with water and puts it under her desk, far out of range of her feet. As beautiful as they are―she doesn't need the hassle here.

One of the problems with being one of the only female Aurors in the department meant people paid a little too much attention to her, especially when it came to things like this. Chavers wouldn't be the only one who inquired about the flowers, though he'd probably be the easiest to deal with since some empty threats still worked on him.

She had no idea what she'd say to Scrimgeor if he passed her desk and inquired, so it was best to keep Remus' gift to herself.

After work she sneaks the vase out of the office and spends an enormous amount of time arranging it on her counter in her flat―she's never had a bloke give her flowers before and though she's not really the first dates and roses type, she can't help but feel a little giddy about it. Finally satisfied with the view―she can see the vase from every angle in her living room and kitchen―she sheds her Auror robes, crawls into something comfier, and Apparates to Grimmauld Place.

Remus opens the door before she's even reached the top step, expecting her, but instead of ducking inside inconspicuously―the way she's been doing every day now that they have this little routine―she wraps her hand around the front of his jumper and hauls him down into a breathless kiss on the porch.

His hands flail for a moment, unsure of whether to hold the door or hold her or brace his weight against the railing. Tonks smirks against his mouth, teasing him by grazing her teeth over his bottom lip and he finally gives in, settling for a hand at her lower back, flush against her spine, and the other knuckle deep in her hair, pulling her that much closer.

She loves that he's taller than her, that she has to rise up on her toes and that he has to bend for them to reach each other.

His tongue has just started to tease her lips apart when Sirius' voice, highly amused, breaks them away from each other. "Oh, Merlin, finally. I was beginning to think I was going to have to lock the two of you in a broom cupboard."

Remus takes a moment to look properly ashamed, dragging her inside, and closing the door, before following Sirius into the library, Tonks still trapped under his arm. "And what exactly would that have accomplished?"

Sirius' grin is cocky as he pours himself a finger of whiskey. "Oh, please, Moony, you know exactly what goes on in broom cupboards."

"Is this the kind of advice you're leaving poor Harry with?" Tonks inquires lightly.

"No, but I should, huh? Let me go find some parchment."

Tonks looks around at Remus. "He's just kidding right?"

"No. No he isn't."

"Oh, well." Remus leads them both to the sofa and collapses with her still trapped between his arms. She doesn't mind and snuggles into the warmth of his jumper. "Thank you for the flowers."

He plays with the ends of her hair, pink strands falling between his fingers. "I just wanted you to smile. I know how stressed you've been lately."

"You make me smile." She shuffles against him, pulling her knees up so she can crawl up his lap and kiss him thoroughly. It's a little bit like being punch-drunk, the giddiness she feels when his hands snake around her back, pushing up beneath her shirt a little, the warmth of his hands splayed along her spine.

"Nymphadora," he says against her lips. There's a question or a something like it on his tongue, but she's too enthralled with said tongue to really pay attention.

Their lips part as they both seek air and she uses the break to trail a path along his jaw bone, up near his ear and back down, slipping under his chin.

"Nymph . . . ah . . ." She's locked onto his pulse point, raking her teeth gently down the column of his throat, making whatever he's attempting to say a real struggle.

She hums against him, her nose brushing his Adam's apple and she can feel him swallow, feel him tense up when she releases a hot breath just under his chin.

He's shying away from her, or at least, attempting to―so he can talk to her―but her tongue is doing something particularly distracting along his jaw and it's all he can do not to groan contently. His fingers wrap around her waist, travelling up from her hips as she wiggles on his lap, shifting a little higher as he tilts his head back.

Suddenly his fingers lock in place, digging into her waist and she releases a contented little moan that has him arching towards her unconsciously, some primal part of his being needing to hear that sound again.

Okay, he needs to stop this. _Now. Right now_. Before he does something they'll both regret. They agreed to take it slow. To see where a relationship would go. And this is heading in a direction that's rather difficult to undo once done.

She doesn't seem to mind though. And that primal part of him is doing a kind of dance at the realization.

"Dora," he says, the word almost a growl and a hot jolt of pleasure rockets through her, settling somewhere in the base of her gut. It stirs there, around and around, until she feels her heart race. _Dora_. It's what her father calls her. What Sirius sometimes teases her with, but coming from Remus . . . like that . . . _well_, it didn't quite sound the same as when her dad decided he was going to treat her like a five year old who couldn't tie her shoes.

He must have noticed the strange way she's looking at him because he quickly takes her face in his hands, thumbs brushing over her cheeks. "Is that okay?"

"What?" she asks, eyes flicking from his wrists, up to his face. The word is barely breathed.

"Dora?"

"S'not terrible," she says, smiling coyly and turning her face to press a chaste kiss to his wrist. "Better than Nymphadora that's for sure."

She presses another kiss to his wrist and he's thoroughly distracted by the way his pulse butterflies against his skin, like it's trying to escape and seek contact with her lips again. He doesn't understand how she unravels him this fast and decides he better get the conversation started before she makes him loose his train of thought.

"Dora," he says again, liking the way it rolls off his tongue.

She looks up at him under heavily lidded lashes, her eyes a warm honey brown today. She tips her head forward just so, tilting at the last second and lets her lips graze his cheek. "Hmm?"

"I have to go away for a few days."

She drags her lips back against his, eyes catching his alertness in flashes. She pulls away slightly and pauses, licking her lips before leaning back to see him properly. "Why?"

"The moon."

"I know that," she says, playing with the top button of his collar, "but why away?"

"Severus has been unable to secure enough Aconite flower for the Wolfsbane. There's been . . ." He stutters, like he's weighing the words, "shortages this month."

Her brows furrow. "Shortages?"

"The dose is weaker than what I require and I don't want to risk being at Headquarters if Severus has expressed his uncertainty as to the potions potency."

"I can't imagine there's that may Wizard's suddenly buying up Aconite," she says.

Remus shrugs. "This is what happens during war. Things get scarce. Prices go up. People are less trusting."

"Well, I'll miss you."

He pushes her hair back along her forehead, tucking it behind her ear. "I'll be back before you can."

"Not possible." She watches him for a moment. "Where will you go?"

His eyes dance over her face, refusing to reveal anything.

"Is it a secret?"

"Just some off-beat track of woods somewhere."

_He doesn't want her to know_, she realizes. He's trying to protect her. "Have you changed there before?"

"Yes."

"Okay."

"Okay?"

"I just want to make sure you'll be safe."

"I'm the one turning into a carnivorous, violent beast and you're worried if I'll be safe?"

"I've heard stories," Tonks says, avoiding his eyes. "About the werewolf capture unit. Supposed accidents that have happened when taking in werewolves."

"Unfortunate circumstances," Remus says, his features carefully schooled. "But you don't have to worry. I'll be far away from any humans. The werewolf capture units stay localized near the wizarding communities."

Tonks sighs, hugging his chest, her head tucked under his chin. "You really can't just transform in Grimmauld Place?"

"No. I won't risk it."

"Would you risk something else then? If you really are going to be that far removed?"

"What?"

"Take Sirius with you. Please."

"Dora, you know he can't leave―"

"Who's going to know? He spent years on the run. I doubt Malfoy is holed up in some random patch of woods anyway."

"Really, it's not necessary."

"I don't like the idea of you out there alone."

Remus smirks, but it's not teasing or condescending, just a little aching. "It's been a long time since I've had someone to worry over me during transformations."

"Well get used to it," she says. "You're stuck with me. And my worrying."

* * *

There's a knock on Tonks' door two days later, late in the evening and she opens it before she has the better judgement to maybe inquire who it is first.

"You're back," is the first thing she says. The first thing she does is capture Remus' collar between her hands and kiss him, dragging his head down to meet hers. "I missed you. Come inside for tea."

She doesn't let him go though, and she doesn't move to the kitchen, but the sofa, and his hands hold her as she stumbles backwards, pulling them both down.

She giggles and presses another kiss to his lips.

His hands hold her hips, fingers pressing into her skin. She pulls him back with her, falling against the sofa cushion, his weight pinning her.

He's dizzied by the kiss, by the pull of emotion in his stomach, swaying like a hook, looking for something to grab hold of. Her legs part just a little and she arches into him a bit more, everything pressing together with delicious friction.

He pulls away, sitting up, eyes glazed and unfocused.

She shuffles up too, a pout on her lips.

"Remus, why'd you stop?"

"We don't have to rush into this, you know."

"I know," she says. "But we didn't have to stop. Unless you want to, of course. If you're not sure."

Oh, he's sure. He's very sure. But she's so young. Twenty-four. And she can't know that she wants this after a few weeks of heated kisses and lingering touches.

But it's so much more than that, he tells himself. It's ten months of getting to know each other. Ten months of friendship and camaraderie and he knows he's never loved someone the way he loves her.

This isn't something he sought out to do when he met her. This isn't something he planned. So he knows it's real. It's the most concrete thing in his life right now and of course he wants her. He wants her so much he has to stamp down the possessive growl that burns in his throat when she looks at him like that, eyes pleading.

"I'm giving you time to change your mind," he says, fingers stroking her knuckles.

She sighs, slumping against the back of the sofa. She admires his chivalry, the fact that he hasn't tried to jump into bed with her the way some of her other boyfriends had, but it's something she knows she wants from him and if his sense of nobility means he'll never touch her she doesn't like the sound of it. "I'm not going to change my mind."

"You can't be sure."

"Why are you so sure I will?"

"Because I don't deserve you."

She sighs again, head falling against his chest. He rests his chin on her head and she smiles into his shirt. "Maybe I don't deserve you. But I can be patient." She nods to herself, convincing herself more than him. "So did Sirius make it back okay?"

"Dropped him off before I came, and yes, he enjoyed his impromptu camping trip very much."

Tonks notices the way he slumps as he talks. "Have you rested at all today? You look beat?"

He turns his head, smile crooked. "I wanted to see you."

"And now I feel terrible. Here I am trying to seduce you and all you want to do is sleep."

"That's not all I want," he mumbles.

She smirks wryly at him. "Don't say things like that if you aren't going to make good on them."

"I'm sorry. I'm just too tired to be completely chivalrous."

"We'll talk about just how chivalrous you have to be when you've had some sleep, alright? Come on, lay down."

"I should go back." He makes to stand and she all but jumps on him to keep him on the sofa, both of them tipping at the contact.

"Merlin, Remus, I'm not going to ravage you in the night."

His hands wrap around her again, rubbing up and down her back. "Now that sounds like a dream I'd like to have."

She taps his chest, chuckling. "Stop that."

He presses a kiss into her hair as she settles against his chest, content to let the sound of his breathing lull her into drowsiness. "I'm going to bed," she finally whispers before she lets herself nod off. "Unless you'd like to join me."

She thinks he might already be asleep until he growls into her neck. "Dora . . . don't."

She can't help but laugh. "Serves you right. No one likes a tease."

"I'll show you a tease."

But before he can make good on anything, his eyes have fluttered closed again and his breathing levels out. She drags the throw blanket off the back of the sofa and drapes it over him. She doubts he'll get cold, bundled up the way he is, but sometimes the flat gets drafty in the mornings.

Mustering her remaining energy she slips into her bedroom and returns a minute later with one of her pillows, stuffing it rather unceremoniously under his head. She isn't all that gentle about it, but he doesn't even bat an eyelash and she kisses the tip of his nose before dragging herself back to bed.

Before nodding off she smiles at the empty side of the bed, thinking about how much she wants Remus to be the one to fill it. And if sleeping on her couch wasn't an indication as to how close they were getting then she didn't know what was.

There's something so domestic about it all that it makes her head spin.

He never stays the night. Never has before, she amends, though sometimes leaving at odd hours of the morning seemed rather pointless to Tonks.

This is the start, she thinks. The start of him being here when she wakes up in the morning. She falls asleep on that train of thought, her dreams pleasant for the first time in weeks.

* * *

He still doesn't want her anywhere near him during the moon; it's for her own protection. But he can't say that his heart doesn't flip when she's the first thing he wakes to the second day after his transformation. Truthfully he's still exhausted and he doesn't remember falling asleep on her couch, but it's long enough for his limbs and he's slept in worse places and watching Nymphadora stumble around, half asleep still in her long Weird Sisters shirt while she attempts to steep the tea is equal parts adorable and a little sexy.

He doesn't think she's wearing much underneath, the shirt coming down mid-thigh, but he's not one to complain, and he thinks she knows exactly what he's thinking as she looks up and spies him watching her, a boyish kind of smile on his face.

"Sorry," she says, putting down the kettle. She saunters over to him, and it can't really be called anything else if she's determined to sway her hips like that. Smiling, she leans over and her lips graze his forehead. "You were snoring. Go back to sleep. I have to work."

She tucks a bar of Honeydukes under his pilfered pillow.

He catches her hand as she rises. "Will you come back later? I promise to be conscious."

"Sleep," she tells him sweetly, her hand caressing his face. "I'll come back. I live here, silly."

He does sleep and it's her soft caress that ends up waking him almost ten hours later.

"Are you hungry?" she asks. "You must be. Molly's made dinner at Headquarters. We should go get you some."

He pulls her onto the couch with such speed and agility that Tonks loses her breath and only regains it in time to lose it again to a sound kiss from him. They somehow maneuver around each other until she's trapped beneath his warm weight, his long limbs pressing her into the sofa cushions, his head tipped to look down at her.

Honestly she can't think of a better thing to come home to or a better place to spend the evening―trapped beneath Remus.

She runs her fingers through his hair, secretly examining. He looks better than he did last night. It appears a solid several hours of sleep was all he needed.

Catching her hand in his, he kisses her palm gently, the kind smile never leaving his face, before he lowers his lips to her throat.

"You _must_ be hungry now," she gasps as his lips tease the hollow as the base of her neck. His hair is soft and featherlike along the underside of her chin; it tickles and she squirms beneath him. He retaliates by holding her closer, his fingers finding purchase around her hips, teasing her t-shirt up her stomach so he can get access to the silky skin there.

He can smell the shampoo on her and her hair is damp from the shower. His senses are always heightened before and after the change, but he's become so accustomed to the close smell of her skin he thinks he'd be able to pick it out of a crowd in the middle of the month.

"You smell good."

"I should or else I'm paying far too much for my soap." She brushes his hair off his forehead, sandy locks slipping back through her fingers to dangle about his face. "Remus, we should go to Headquarters. Molly will Floo over here soon if I don't turn up with you. You know how she likes to worry over you after transformations."

"Just tell her I'm rather busy at the moment."

"Doing what?"

His fingers dig into her skin and she giggles, squirming away from him. He shakes his head against her shoulder, lips testing the boundaries of her t-shirt as he nips at her collar bone.

She wiggles again, chuckling into his ear and her hips slide against his―slowly, purposefully.

Remus stills then, raising his head to look at her, his eyes as wide as hers, darkened by a flurry of desire.

"Oh," she breathes, seeing the way his features tense, like he's fighting against every cell in his body. "I didn't mean―"

He kisses her. A short peck on her lips that pushes the thoughts away. Then he pushes off the couch, off of her, and immediately she misses the weight of him, the warmth he provided.

"I'll just get my coat," he calls, disappearing down the hall. "Then we can go."

Tonks sits up, legs crossed, the pads of her fingers dancing against her mouth where her lips are pulled into a secret little smile.

* * *

The following day Remus picks Tonks up from work because he's missed her; granted it's only been a night since they sat together at Headquarters, eating Molly's lamb stew, but it appears he spoiled himself by staying in her flat. Waking up to her had been a treat; the putrid dog breath Sirius had used to lure him out of bed this morning just wasn't quite the same.

He nods as Kingsley approaches, casting a wary glance around the office before settling on some pleasantries. It's best if conversations don't dwell inside the Ministry or linger on unsavory topics.

Remus spies Tonks out of the corner of his eye and she waves to him, her pink hair dulled down today, like the buds of new flowers.

He thinks maybe she's taken a leaf out of the weather forecast. It's April and the trees are beginning to bloom and everything smells fresh and sweet and he wants to take her out, walk arm in arm down the street. Muggle London of course. It's better that way. Easier to disguise what they are around people who are completely oblivious.

"If you look at her any harder you're going to Apparate."

Kingsley smirks as Remus flounders for words.

Across the office Tonks is having a hard time controlling the blush and the fluttering bubble in her chest as she spies Remus talking politely with Kingsley; she doubles her efforts to tidy her desk and collect her things to distract herself.

There's a shadow over her shoulder that stays a few moments too long and she looks up, tucking an errant piece of hair behind her ear. "Chavers, you alright? Need something?"

He's not looking at her though; instead his gaze, which is really a glare, is settled on Remus. "Who's the bloke?"

Tonks bites the inside of her cheek and shrugs indifferently. "A friend."

"Since when do you consort with werewolves?"

She swallows the gasp of hurt and shock, schooling her features blankly. "Since when does it matter who I hang around with?"

Chavers takes a step towards her. He's close enough for her to see his pupils dilate. "You represent this Ministry, Nymphadora." His face is pale and ghosted, like he can't really see her though he's looking directly at her. He sounds nothing like himself.

She straightens, head tipped in concern. "Chavers, are you alright?" She places a hand on his arm.

He shakes his head then, like he's bothered by the touch, and looks away from her. "Yeah, fine. I'll see you tomorrow, right."

"Alright." He disappears quickly after that, splitting from the office without going back to his desk.

She doesn't have long to contemplate his strange behaviour though, because as soon as she's finished, Remus ushers her out of the Ministry and locks their hands together. He doesn't let go until late in the evening and it's only because they've stopped at that little café again, the one they played chess in during one of their first meetings.

She beats him again. Twice. Though she thinks he went easy on her because he was getting rather distracted by the way her jumper sagged as she leaned over the board.

She may have used this to her advantage, but only until she was sure she'd win.

It isn't until she returns home later that night, walking into her darkened flat and hearing the crunch under her feet, that she spares a second to think of anything other than Remus. Waving her wand, the lights flicker to life and she sees the mess of shattered glass spread across the living room floor.

The flowers Remus had given her lay in a heap in the middle of the room, the vase exploded around them; dozens of crystal shards dance in the warm light.

Sharp and dangerous.

The hair on the back of her neck prickles as she charms her front door closed, then the windows. Her heart pounds in her throat.

She dreams that night of faceless, masked figures in hooded, black cloaks.

It's enough to drive her out of bed again, but she doesn't return to Grimmauld Place for tea and sympathy. She just sits on her sofa, surround by the remains of the mess she had been too shaken to clear away, and watches as the lone candle on her coffee table spreads eerie shadow across the room.

This war had just gotten personal.


	19. Chapter 19

She's been staying at Grimmauld Place in the spare bedroom―the one that once housed a colony of doxies―for two weeks before Sirius finally catches on. It doesn't surprise her really, not when she spends so much time there anyway between Order meetings and catching up with Remus.

It happens late one night, so late it's almost morning. She's just getting in from her shift, stumbling around the bedroom, trying to untie her laces in the dark, when someone knocks on the door. It's too hard of a knock to be Remus, and frankly at this time in the morning―this close to the moon―she knows he should be out cold with exhaustion.

She props the door open slowly, the gas lamps in the hall hugging Sirius' silhouette with warm light. It's enough for her to make out a wry smile on his twisted features and the bottle of fire whiskey in his hand. "Wotcher, Sirius," she murmurs, her voice just above a whisper.

"Nymphadora! Should I say good night? Or good morning?"

"Ugh, don't remind me," she says, leaning her head against the door frame.

"Touché. So, I've been noticing some things, one of which is the," he flicks his finger in the direction of her whirlwind of a room, "permanent residence you've set up in my house. And it's not that I mind you here, Cuz, because I don't, but seriously, what's going on?"

Tonks frowns, not because he's caught on, but because she's too tired to get into this conversation right now and Sirius seems to be in one of his talkative moods. "It's nothing; I just needed a place to stay for a couple days."

"Couple days? Couple weeks maybe?" He leans one forearm on the door frame and cocks an eyebrow. "You're avoiding going home. What happened?"

"Nothing, Sirius. Don't worry about it. I'll see you in the morning." She tries to shut the door on him, but he's older and stronger. That whiskey diet sure hasn't done anything to impact his physique.

"Nymphadora," he says, eyes stern as he tips his head, foot propped in the way of the door.

She relents finally and goes to sit on the bed, grabbing a pillow and hugging it to her chest. Sirius slips inside and closes the door behind him. The bed dips when he sits and their shoulders bang together.

"What happened?"

"S'nothing. Someone got into my flat is all. Wrecked the place up a bit."

He takes a swig of whiskey. "Wizard?"

She nods. "Door was charmed."

"Did they take anything?"

"Not that I could tell."

"You're getting all fidgety. What aren't you telling me?

"Nothing."

He grabs her wrist. "Dora."

She groans. "Don't say it like that."

"Like what?"

"All parental and, _bollocks_, don't look at me like that."

"Like what?"

"Like you're worried about me!"

Sirius sputters. "I am worried about you, especially if someone is coming after you. That's what happened the first time we played this game with Voldemort. The Death Eaters started picking us off one at a time."

She turns away because she can't look at the strain in his eyes anymore. "I don't know if it even had anything to do with the Order."

"Why do you say that?"

"Because the only thing they did was smash the vase of flowers Remus had given me. That was it. Everything else was untouched. It was like―like a warning." She wrings her hands together, purposely avoiding telling him about the strange letters she's received this past week: the ones that threaten her job―and according to the last letter, her life―if she doesn't break things off with Remus. She doesn't need to add fuel to the fire for Sirius. She knows what this means, and if she's wrong about it then this is just some twisted kind of prank and she's going to kill the bloody wanker who's been dropping the letters on her desk every day. But in her gut she knows it's not a joke.

"It's like someone knows you're seeing him and doesn't like it?" Sirius' voice is low, measured.

Tonks nods. "And who do we know that has an issue when members of the Black family associate with anyone other than pure-bloods?"

Sirius' face pales a little and it's enough to twist her gut painfully.

"What did Remus say?"

Tonks grabs his hand, her heart suddenly in her throat. "I can't tell him. I really can't. He'll just use it as an excuse as to why he's too dangerous for me. And you know this is about more than that if it's _her_."

Sirius sighs. "Yeah, there is that small thing about your mum running off with your dad and renouncing the Blacks and then you happened. And I guess I'm probably chucked in there somewhere as well. Sure she doesn't like that I'm getting all the credit for the Death Eater's reunion."

"You won't tell him will you? Remus can't know." She tenses, her shoulders pointed inward. "I don't even know if it was anything. Maybe just people being stupid."

"I won't tell him . . . yet. Because I know what he does when he over reacts, but you have to stay away from your flat for now, until we figure out who was in there for sure and what they wanted."

She nods. "Already working that thread."

"So what did you tell Remus about you being here all the time then?"

"That I forgot to pay my rent and the landlord rented my flat out."

"He bought that?"

She shrugs indifferently. "He believes something as trivial as paying rent may have slipped my mind considering the current workings of my job and the Order."

"You're too smart for your own good, you know that."

She ignores his compliment. "Sirius, they know where I _live_."

He wraps his free arm around her shoulder and squeezes. "We don't know _who_ was in your flat yet."

"That makes it worse."

"It's okay, we'll figure it out."

They're silent for a long moment because they're both wondering about that and the common enemies they hold for being born Black's. Bellatrix is up there with her hate of all things that should have been pruned from the family tree. If she's found out somehow that Tonks is dating Remus, well, that tops her mother marrying a Muggle born, but whether it was Bellatrix in her flat delivering the warning or someone else doing her bidding is what really worries her.

She's not sure she's ready to face off against her Aunt.

"You know what's the most mysterious thing of all?" Sirius says finally, letting her go so she can look at him.

"What?"

"You've been staying here for two weeks and not once has Moony stayed in here overnight." His grin is crooked and teasing, just like his eyebrows in the way they wiggle at her.

She knocks his arm with hers and ducks a shy smile. "Remus isn't like that."

"Oh, I know. I just figured, having you so close and all . . . it must be pretty tempting for him."

She huffs and falls back on the bed. "We're taking things slow."

"Too slow for you, Cuz?"

She just grunts in response.

He gives her leg a sympathetic pat. "Stay here as long as you need. And don't worry about Remus. He'll come around soon."

"How do you know?"

Sirius flips his hair out of his eyes. "Cause I've seen the way he's been watching you lately. That is the look of a man losing all resolve. You just keep doing that thing with your hips that you do―"

"What thing?" Tonks demands.

"Oh, bloody hell, you know―"

"I do not." She sits up. "What thing?"

"Can't believe . . . just . . . _really_, like you don't know." He rolls his eyes. "Oh, very well, you know, this thing . . ." He stands and wriggles his hips around, jerky and square, and dances in a circle, voice pitched as he imitates what she really hopes isn't her.

"I do not do that," she insists, pillow to her mouth to stifle the laughter.

"You bloody well do and you know it. And he knows it now and it all but makes him drool. Serious, Cuz, his eyes get like this big." His hands make spectacle shapes around his eyes and she fights the blush rising in her cheeks as she stares determinedly at the wall. Sirius purses his lips in victory. "That's what I thought. Now you just bloody well make sure someone casts a silencing charm in here when old Moony does go and cave, because I have enough nightmares as it is."

"Sirius, I'm not going to shag Remus―"

He plops back down on the bed. "Oh, now don't be that way. I'm supposed to be looking out for him as a friend, and as a man I can tell you he needs―

She scoots across the bed, almost into his lap, and clamps his lips together with her fingers. "Sirius, I'm only saying this once―mainly because I do not want to discuss shagging Remus with you―but for your information, I am not shagging him here, under this roof, because A) you're here all the time, and B) I'm pretty sure one of our old, crotchety Black relatives probably died in this bed. So no."

Sirius smirks under her fingers, his lips flattening like a duck bill.

Tonks glares something that might mean death. "I'm going to let you go now and you're not going to mention this conversation again. Right?"

Sirius jerks his head. "Mmrimm."

"Good."

* * *

The click-click-click of nails on wood is what wakes her despite the fact she doesn't have to be at work for another two hours.

Then the insistent scruff of nails against her door until it pops open.

Sirius, in dog form, pads across her room and deposits a letter on her lap. It's ruffed up around the edges, like it's been opened, and of course it has because it's got Moody's handwriting on the front and Sirius is a nosy bugger.

She swipes a few handfuls of pink hair from her face, unrolls the parchment, squinting in the almost non-existent daylight, and groans. "Why can't you ever bring me good news, huh?"

Sirius sits on the floor expectantly, his tail sweeping a path through her belongings; his head cocks and after a beat he makes a great swipe for her face with his tongue.

"Alright, I'm up, you great prat." She rolls out of bed and dances on the cold floor in her bare feet, shifting through piles of clothes for her Auror robes. "I have to go into the Office early. Mad-Eye has to discuss something, though of course you knew that because you read my mail. Say good morning to Remus for me, won't you? I don't want to wake him this early so close to the moon."

Sirius whines a little and she throws a sock at him. "Sod off. You do the same thing."

A snort that might be a snicker and Sirius drags a set of red robes from under the bed, offering them up to her with a flick of his head.

Tonks takes them, siphoning off some of the drool with her wand. "Dog breath in the morning. Thank you, Sirius."

There's a swish of a big black tail and Sirius disappears out the door, that same chuffing snort echoing from his chest.

She flicks her wand and charms the door closed before shrugging out of the over-sized shirt she wore to bed. Before she even has her socks on, a burly warthog trudges through the door, snorting at her, white puffs of smoke billowing from the Patronus' nostrils.

Tonks blinks owlishly at it before curling her hands into fists. "Oh, don't you dare―"

Moody's growl fills the room. "Punctuality, Nymphadora. I sent that owl at least fifteen minutes ago!"

"Bugger." She kicks at the dissipating Patronus and stuffs an arm into her robes, nearly ripping the seam in her haste; she jams her feet into her boots, tying the laces with magic. "One of these days," she mutters dangerously, leaving the room with a loud _pop_.

She lands in the atrium of the Ministry, stumbling a bit in her haste, and steadies herself against the rail guarding the golden fountain sputtering water from a house elf's mouth.

She stalks across the atrium, nodding to security before slipping into the lifts.

She's the only one on the floor when she arrives, the lights in the offices still dark.

There's a faint glow from her cubicle though and as she approaches the grizzled figure of Moody comes into view. "Ask for a better chair; this one'll give you back problems."

She sighs, dropping her bag on her desk, and leans up against it to settle him with the best glare she can muster before she's had caffeine. "Can't even let a girl get dressed, can you Mad-Eye?"

"No time," he barks. "I needed you here before the swell of Ministry workers arrive. Arthur's just received a tip-off."

"A tip off about what?"

"Remember when Remus had to leave last full moon because Severus wasn't able to track down enough Aconite from his suppliers? And when you two had to make that exchange for Nettle leaves in Egypt?"

"Yes."

"We think we know where all the potion ingredients are ending up. At least, we think we know who's intercepting the shipments."

"Who?"

He frowns. On Moody, who's always scowling to some degree, the look is positively terrifying. "I need you to go in on this one Nymphadora. We have a mark and if this meeting goes south a lot more people are going to suffer."

She crosses her arms, tucking her hands around her middle. "Okay, what do you want me to do?"

"It's going to require a certain skillset of yours. Deep cover to protect both the Order and the Ministry. No one can know who you are."

She cocks an eyebrow at him, impatiently. "Doesn't it always come down to the fact that I'm a Metamorphmagus?"

"No. And none of your lip girl. This is a bad one. I need to make sure you're on point before I let you go in. I need to know that you'll be able to handle yourself."

"Why? Where am I going?"

Mad-Eye's gaze flickers across her face, the lines of scarring around his eye tightening. He tips forward just a bit, leaning on his staff. "How much do you know about the werewolf underground?"

* * *

There's an emergency meeting called the next evening at ten and Remus stumbles blurry eyed into the kitchen. Everyone's there except Dumbledore and the Hogwarts staff, but the only ones remotely awake are Kingsley and Mad-Eye.

Tonks is missing but this wouldn't be the first time she's slept through a message, especially the way she's been stretched so thin lately.

Mad-Eye addresses the table as soon as Remus pulls out a chair. "We've called this meeting because we've run into trouble on one of our assignments. Tonks hasn't checked in yet and―"

"Where is she?" Remus is out of the chair again before he realizes it and Sirius is yanking on his sleeve, begging him to calm down.

"On assignment," Mad-Eye repeats.

"She was supposed to make contact with a known werewolf associate," Kingsley tells him, reading the look of utter confusion off his face.

"Werewolf? And you didn't think it prudent to send the resident werewolf?"

"Calm down, Remus," Sirius says again, squeezing his elbow now.

Remus yanks his arm away. "No, this risk was entirely unnecessary."

"Your face was too well known for this," Mad-Eye says simply. "We needed someone with her abilities."

"There are ways around what my face looks like," Remus all but growls.

"Well, we need someone to go in now," Kingsley says. "She said she's not in danger but she's gotten delayed. We think she's having trouble getting out."

"Of course she is this close to the moon. They'll be all over her." Remus begins gathering his things, feeling around in his pockets. Wand. Check. His jacket's by the door. What else does he need? Nothing of course. He just needs to leave. _Now. _"Where is she?"

"The underground."

"Merlin." He runs a hand over his face, feeling the blood drain away. He staggers back into his chair. "Why didn't she tell me?" he whispers.

"Didn't have time I expect," Sirius tells him. "Mad-eye grabbed her right from the Ministry yesterday morning and threw her into business, though she did send a Patronus here. Said she was okay, that she'd be back in a few days and not to worry. Didn't think much of it at the time."

Remus looks over his shoulder at Sirius, jaw shut so tight he's shaking, contemplating what killing his best friend will do to his conscience, but Kingsley interrupts that set of particularly murderous thoughts.

"This close to the moon we don't think it's wise to send you―"

"Of course it isn't," Remus snaps. "And that's exactly why I have to go because I'm the only one who understands how the others think. Especially with the moon waxing full. Anyone else," he swallows thickly, his voice dangerously pitched, "_anyone human_ will draw too much attention to her. Non-werewolves tend to avoid the underground."

"She can hold her own, mate," Sirius says, like he's trying to reassure Remus before he gets anymore unhinged. "They didn't make her Auror cause she could match her hair to her nickers."

Remus balls his hands by his side, tamping down the urge to hit something. His voice rings with slow fury. "Sirius, werewolves like the ones that frequent the underground start hunting long before the full moon rises. And my guess is she'll be exactly what they're looking for."

"What's that?"

"Young blood."

This shuts Sirius up and the rest of the table shares an uneasy look; Molly visibly shivers. For the first time in a long time, Remus feels every bit the monster he tries to pretend he isn't while surrounded by his friends. And for the first time in his entire life he has the desire to kill and it has nothing to do with the moon.


	20. Chapter 20

There's a chill in the air, which Tonks thinks is strange for May, and maybe she's imagining it when she watches shadows pass the alley huddled in furs. But then she looks over her shoulder and watches as Remus' breath comes out in even lines of white cloud as he speaks with the goblin shrouded in grey behind the pub, and if she's not mistaken, he's paying for their silent passage out of the street.

They shake hands. A stiff meeting. More breath lingers in the air.

Yes, it's cold.

And she doesn't feel a damn thing.

Well, that's not entirely true. She knows her fingers tingle and that her head is warm. And heavy. Like she's had too much to drink. But she hasn't as far as she knows. As far as she remembers. What does she remember exactly?

Well, definitely the fact that she's not cold. Confused, maybe, but not cold.

And then she's blinking against the terrible weight behind her eyes again and Remus is there, his hand under her arms, around her back, strengthening her gait, steadying her hand.

"M'okay," she mutters.

"I'll be the judge of that," he says, kindly, warmly. Much more so than she's ever heard before from him which is to say a lot because Remus is nothing if not kind to her. There's something like concern clouding his eyes though. It wrinkles his brow and his lashes bat quickly. Too quickly. He's thinking much too hard again.

Before she can tell him to stop, he's hoisting her up because she's slipping, the heavy cargo boots she's usually so fond of, making her a hot mess of twisted ankles and slippery soles.

"I can walk," she says and she's not sure who she's trying to convince. But she musters some semblance of dignity and gropes the brick wall of the pub with her free hand. Remus stops, allowing her the chance to rest, casting wary glances over his shoulder.

Her head's still woozy, but the crisp spring air's doing a wonder with the memory fog and she's able to recall the night much more clearly. Black dress. Blonde Hair. Dainty blue eyes and pink blush. Warm breath and hot skin, dazzling, tantalizing, pale and young and fresh. The bane of every werewolf's existence on a night like this, so close to the moon.

She was the price of information tonight.

Her innocent batting lashes, the slinky gait and turn of her hips, the tipsy act and too-close dances.

She's good at her job. Too good it seems and young werewolves weren't the only ones who took notice of her in the stuffed-up underground pub.

That's where her problem now lies. Fenrir and his pack now stand in the way of the young wolves and her information.

Her fingers ram her eyes, massaging away the ache.

She feels a hand on her head as she slumps down against the wall, soft, warm. She leans into it, only to find that Remus has shifted to cradle the lingering weight she feels.

"What'd they slip me?" she finally asks.

"Some sort of sedative potion. I could smell it in the drink before you even took a sip. Bastards spiked it behind the counter."

"Rookie mistake," she says to herself, shrugging in a way that almost makes Remus angry because he's the one with the werewolf instincts. He should have warned her sooner. But he's too strung out to overanalyse the scene in the pub. He'll do that later when they Apparate back to headquarters. When he knows she's safe.

It had taken him almost two hours to track her down―her scent among the wolves―and when he finally found her it had taken another twenty minutes to get her attention, to let her know he was here to get her out, and the relief he saw in her eyes set his stomach tumbling.

She had been scared. Terrified because Greyback's pack had shown up in the pub, taking too much of an interest in her. Terrified because, despite being an Auror, there was no way for her to hold her own against dozens of werewolves, someone of them trained heavily in the Dark Arts.

It had taken every ounce of resolve he could muster not to rush towards her and drag her out of the pub: to just order a drink, sit down, and watch for an opening.

When the sallow faced werewolves had taken her onto the floor to dance, hands slipping everywhere at once, he had almost launched out of his booth to strangle them. Grinding his teeth, he shakes that thought from his head. "At least you had the good sense to excuse yourself," he says, his hand on her shoulder. With a few gentle strokes his fingers tangle in strands of her hair.

"The loo excuse always works. Knew something was wrong, though," she says, groaning as she adjusts against the wall. Whatever the hell was in that potion has done a number on her muscles. She feels like a slug that's been chewed on by a Mandrake baby. "Felt my morph slipping."

"You do look a lot more Tonks-like now."

"Is my hair pink?" she asks him, almost shyly.

He shakes his head, letting the strands wrapped around his fingers fall.

"Light brown," he says. "And long. Wavy. Sort of like Sirius'."

She hums disapprovingly. This is certainly less hardened than her usual pink locks.

"Well, guess my secret's out." She tries to morph the brown away, but as her face screws up, there's a pounding behind her eyes that makes her topple forward, right into Remus's waiting arms. "Guess that wasn't a stellar idea."

"Perhaps not." He straightens her up. "You know, brown isn't all that bad. Suits you even."

She swallows and sighs and wonders for a second if the only pink thing she can manage tonight―or this morning really seeing as the sun's about to rise―will be her cheeks. Her thoughts are cut off suddenly by the shuffle of unwanted footsteps.

"Ain't this a pretty sight, fellas? Looks like our girl's already found herself a nice wolf to play games with."

* * *

The cellar is deep enough that Tonks' ears pop when she's shoved inside by rough hands. The light is snuffed out behind her.

She stumbles against the wall, knocking into a haphazardly placed pile of cauldrons. Remus bangs on the door, whispering charm after counter-charm. "We're trapped," he concludes, spinning somewhere close to her. "It's been spelled or something."

He looks at his watch, illuminating it with his wand, fear widening his eyes to the point of pain and he gasps.

Tonks turns, holding her throbbing head. "What is it, Remus?"

"Dora . . . the full moon's tonight. If we . . . if we don't get out―"

She grabs his hand and squeezes. "We will. Someone will come."

But he wrenches away from her, grabbing fistfuls of hair before kicking over a cart that spills dead flowers around them. They explode, spinning on the air like leaves. Remus swipes them from his jacket. "Ah," he hisses, curling his fingers.

"What?"

He tries to wipe the flowers from his hand but his teeth clench against the pain.

Tonks reaches out and grabs his hand, brushing the petals from his palm; red welts have raised the skin. Peeling the faded purple petals from his hand, she notices they're not just any flower. "It's dried Aconite," she tells him, surprised. "Not as potent as the fresh stuff, but still lethal to werewolves if ingested, I expect. We must be in some sort of store room."

"I guess you've tracked down those missing shipments," Remus says. "Why would they keep crates of Aconite in a community of werewolves?"

"Maybe to keep people in line." Tonks peels the last petal from his hand, wiping away the residual juice from the flower. It melts between her fingertips and her heart thumps in her chest. There's more than enough Aconite here to brew Wolfsbane. She knows there is. If only . . . her eyes linger on the cauldrons she toppled. Yes . . . she could. If they're going to be trapped here. If it's their only option. "Remus?" She looks up at him, fingers threading into his own. "Have you been taking your Wolfsbane this month?"

"Yes, but how does that help―"

"How much time before the moon?"

* * *

"So you've been secretly practicing this have you?"

Tonks rolls her sleeves past her elbows and pushes her hair behind her ears. "Not exactly. Just the theory behind it. I was quite the potions student, you know." She works by the light of Remus' wand, using her own to help in the potion making.

"Yes, Kingsley told me as much." His eyes betray the calm in his voice. "It's a very difficult potion to brew."

"Only because the main ingredient is lethal to werewolves. Lucky for us that's the worst of it."

"What do you mean?"

Tonks stokes the fire beneath the cauldron. "Well, we don't have the best of supplies, but I've made do with worse before―you know, in Auror training―so I'll just have to get creative. Measuring out the right amount of Aconite is going to get a little tricky."

"That's the part that could kill me isn't it?"

"Yes," she says, watching the water bubble. Her eyes pinch and she exhales. "Remus, we don't have to do this."

"No. I'd rather die than know I hurt you. I wouldn't be able to live with myself."

"I could defend myself. I'm an Auror, not an idiot. They don't give out those robes because I know how to disarm."

"No. Please brew it." He takes her hand, his fingers almost crushing hers in his urgency. "Please."

"Alright."

She takes his palm and lays it on the ground, tracing around it. Then she lifts it away and begins fill the impression with Aconite petals. "Your hand is roughly one percent of your body's surface area," she explains. "The Aconite needs to be at a fifty-fifty ratio to be effective. Not enough to kill you, but enough to kill the wolf, to let―"

"Me retain my human mind. Yes."

She exhales again, gathers up the handful of Aconite and begins filling the impression again, laying the petals down with painstaking precision. She needs to be exact. Or exact as she can be measuring in the dirt. She fills the handprint fifty times. Once she's finished, she takes the extensive pile of Aconite, pulls a second flat bottomed cauldron into her work space and begins rolling the juice out using her wand as a rolling pin. It's a slow process, but more effective than squeezing the petals between her fingers.

"I need a lock of your hair," she says, startling Remus who had been watching her with such intensity.

He severs a bit with his wand and drops it into the boiling cauldron. Tonks adds the first drop of Aconite flower by dipping her wand in the juice and letting it drop off the end into the water; she watches with bated breath as the water becomes a misty purple.

Hair of the man he is to remain and the bane of the monster he is to become. She stirs the potion, counter clockwise twenty nine times. One revolution for every day since the last full moon.

She lets it bubble for three minutes (Remus counts down on his watch for her) and then adds another drop of Aconite.

They continue this way for several hours. When the potion is the dark purple of a fresh Aconite, almost midnight blue by Tonk's colour perspective, she puts her wand down, letting the potion settle. It's a good deal thicker than it was before and they've reached the final step.

This is the big one.

One counter-clockwise revolution for every moon Remus has seen since he's been bit. For every transformation before tonight.

He's thirty-six.

"You were bit when you were four, yes?"

"Yes. In June. Before the moon."

She nods. Thirty-years of full transformations. That's three hundred sixty transformations. Plus the year he was bit―before June makes seven more moons. And this year―the January, February, and March moons he's already seen add three.

"Three hundred and seventy," she says, her voice hoarse, a whisper.

He nods.

She counts out loud so as not to lose the count.

Remus closes his eyes, so still he could be sleeping, but she knows he isn't; he's counting, too.

* * *

She tips the potion into one of the smaller cauldrons. It's a pathetic excuse for a flask, but Remus says that Severus usually provides about four mouthfuls of potion, so with a steady hand and a calculating eye, she measures out what she guesses to be the right amount.

She swallows the sigh she can feel building in her chest because she doesn't want Remus to know how nervous she is. It's a miracle that she's been able to hide her shaky hands from him this long, or if he has noticed he hasn't said anything, just smiles reassuringly at her. She doesn't know who needs it more.

"Bottoms up," she says finally, passing over the cauldron. She wrings her hands together, then swallows, watching the column of his throat expand and contract, the muscles accommodating the potion. He places the cauldron on the floor by his knees. "We won't know if it worked until after―"

"I know."

She catches a breath of air between her cheeks and holds it. She probably looks strange, so she tries not to look at Remus, but she can't bear the thud of her heart in her throat any longer.

"Dora, are you―"

"Fine, yeah. Just. Oh, Merlin I hope I don't kill you." She runs her fingers through her hair, pulling harder than necessary. "I keep thinking over it. All the steps. Looking for . . . I don't know. Something wrong. This feels wrong. This isn't how you make potions. This is―

He grabs her arms then―tight, steadying―shocking her into silence. He looks as pained as she feels. Whether it's from the moon or because the potion's killing him, or because he's worried about her, she doesn't know and it makes her moan against him, her head tucked beneath his chin.

He wraps his arms around her, hands trailing up and down her spine. "Dora, what can I do?"

"Tell me something. Distract me."

"Tell you what?"

"Anything. Just talk. Tell me about how you got bit."

"You've read my file, haven't you?"

"The cookie-cutter story, Remus. Don't tell me the facts, just . . . I don't know, tell me something."

Her fingers dig into his jumper, tight enough to strangle him, but he just pulls her closer. What if this is the last she ever sees of him? What if the Wolfsbane sends him convulsing on the ground? What if it kills him?

But she didn't screw it up. She did everything right. It looked right. Smelled right. Tasted as unpleasant as it should according to Remus . . . but if there's not enough Aconite _or too little_ . . .

"I trust you."

"What?" she says, breaking from her daze. She tips her head back to look at him.

"That you've done your absolute best and I thank you for that. And I want you to know―"

She scrambles and presses her finger to his lips. "Please don't talk like that. Not now. I can't―" She presses her lips to his instead and for the first time since being chucked in the cellar she feels close to him. Like he's let himself want her again.

She pulls away and he rests his forehead against hers. "You're hair's pink again."

"How can you tell? It's dark."

"I just know."

* * *

Fog melts the ice that's curled around her fingers. The moon's pale, but a light in the darkness nonetheless―filtering through a narrow venting shaft into the cellar―the first they've seen in hours, and despite the fact that it means she's potentially about to die, Nymphadora Tonks thinks it looks rather beautiful; soft, the glow a subtle yellow, yet radiant in the way it touches and caresses and falls and highlights the terrified blue eyes of the man before her.

Yes, Remus Lupin looks absolutely horror-stricken, grief pulling his face at odd angles, though that might simply be the wolf's curse, terror gouging the light in his eyes, replacing it with a dark wisdom that only the vilest creatures of the night are privy too.

Still, even like this, Remus is the most wonderful person she's ever known, and somehow she knows he thinks the same of her. And maybe that's why his face is so terribly pained right now because he knows it's minutes . . . maybe even just seconds, then twilight will end and his nightmare will begin.

The wolf is coming and her seven years and a potions NEWT is the only thing that stands in the way of him ripping her limb from limb.

"I told you," he whispers, his breath a panicked, shaky ghost across her face. He inhales sharp. Short. Like he can't catch his breath, like he doesn't want to. "I'm no good for you. I'll destroy you."

"Remus," she says, calling him back even as the wolf takes him. "I trust you, too. I do. _I do_."

And then his jaw is lengthening, stretching, teeth receding and canines sprouting, curled and sharp and laced in black drool. Red blood.

"I trust you," she says again. And she hopes, with every ounce of energy inside her being, that she's done enough. That she is enough. No one said loving this man would be easy, he'd even said it himself, but she does and all she can do now is hope.

She backs away, scrambling on her hands and knees as paws replace hands and clothes tear to accommodate the new length of limbs. There's the pop of vertebrae and his back goes out. In. She doesn't know which way anymore. She doesn't want to look. Not when it sounds so painful.

It makes the Cruciatus look tame and immediately she has to choke down the bile that's filled her throat and threatened to overflow into her lungs. She's choking; choking on the inside where he can't see. On the outside she's put on that brave face.

_He doesn't want your pity_, she tells herself. So don't look at him like that.

She looks for his eyes. Blue and burdened in the yellow light. Glowing like glass to a flame. Forever reflecting his harsh mistress.

The moon watches as he becomes the monster he fears. The one he's begged her to fear.

And she watches as the beautiful blue becomes stony black. Soulless. Pathless. An abyss of nothingness that threatens to swallow her the way it does him.

Her breath is a puff against the wolf's steam. Hot. Rank.

Foul.

Her hands shake, digging into the cold earth.

"R - _remus_," she says. Mutters. Does she even speak it? Can he hear her? She fumbles back against the wall, groping for her wand in the chaos. The cauldron turns against her limp legs as she searches blind, spilling the remains of the Wolfsbane.

And as those black eyes meet hers, she knows it's the moment of truth.

The moment she finds out whether she was really worth that potions NEWT after all.

* * *

She knows the moment the moon's set because the wolf begins to stir across the cellar, where it collapsed moments after the transformation, turning in a wide circle, dark eyes on her, before promptly going to sleep; it awakens now, fighting against the change, fighting against the man that's clawing to get out.

He heaves when the transformation's done, chest pale and glistening with sweat, the air rushing from his lungs in disjointed gasps. She hasn't dared breathe and the air bleeds between her lips.

He crawls, shifting in the dank shadows of the cellar, a little closer to her, but he stops, leaning against the wall, knees drawn up to his chest, arms wrapped around them.

She sees many things in his eyes as they search for hers in the darkness: fear is paramount, exhaustion, longing, and maybe just a little curious wonder. Almost like awe.

But he doesn't move to her. Doesn't call her. Just watches. The ever patient professor, observing what is left to be observed.

The way he's looking at her though, like she's going to cower away in fear or use her wand to blast him away, breaks her heart just a little bit; a little bit more than it's already broken after watching him scream and break and tear the way no person ever should.

So she does the only logical thing and walks over to him, sitting down at the edge of his feet so his cold toes curl under her legs.

She cups his face, fingers brushing hair behind his ears, following the contours of his cheeks, his jaw. She needs him to feel that she's real; that he didn't scare her away. That he never will, no matter how many times she has to watch him become the wolf. "See, it's okay," she whispers. "Everything's okay."

"You're completely brilliant, you know that?"

"I do." She leans forward and kisses him. He seems unsure, wary in the way her lips move against his, so she kisses him again. When she pulls away she smiles that shy smile that curls her cheeks and has her batting her lashes at the ground. "Remus, you know you're completely starkers, right?"

Deep bellied laughter fills the darkness and for a moment it's easy to forget that she just spent the night with a werewolf, that he almost killed himself with worry for her, that they both just placed their lives in the hands of her potion skills. Right now, she can't feel anything but a giddy rush of happiness that everything turned out okay.

They're still stuck in a cellar bewitched by werewolves.

They still have no way out.

But they survived the moon. Together. And if all it did is buy them time, Tonks couldn't care less and she laughs with Remus at the absurdity of it all.

"That is kind of what happens after I've spent the night as a wolf." He takes her chin between his fingers and whispers against her lips. "Now eyes up here, Nymphadora."

She feels the blush heat her cheeks but doesn't bother with her morph. It's so dim she can hardly see anything but the light in his eyes from the hazy glow cast by her wand. "Sorry," she whispers and they're sharing the same air, same space, and her heart's racing because of it. "Remus?"

"Yes?"

"You do intend to get naked in front of me at some point in our relationship, right?"

He laughs again, softer this time. Perhaps it's a foolish thing to ask considering their circumstances, but near death experiences will do that to a person.

"You've already seen me naked before."

She ignores his jibe at what they now refer to as the shower incident. "I meant of your own accord. Because you want to be and not just because I have no regard for personal space."

"That is the general progression of things, yes. Though this is not exactly how I envisioned it. A quick romp in a dusty cellar where I slept as a werewolf is not suitable for a first time." He brushes his thumb over her lips. "Nymphadora?"

She snaps her eyes up again from where they've been wandering over the glistening skin on his chest. "I'm listening. You said first time?"

He chuckles and leans to kisses both her eyelids. Then he reaches for his wand, tucked between a pair of crates and gets to work patching his cloak in the darkness, least he be a temptation for her. "Right now we have a bigger problem to solve." He eyes the door that keeps them trapped. "I don't relish spending another night in here."


	21. Chapter 21

The kitchen is almost perfectly still. Remus has finally hexed the pixie trapped in the rafters, silencing that hideous giggling. It's taken him about a year, he thinks, watching as the June sun bleeds a red glow through the kitchen window and across the table. The red catches an array of Black silver and casts orange flickers against the wall. Orange like flame. But the silence is golden. It makes the bitter taste of his tea―they're out of sugar thanks to Dora―all the better.

Until of course Sirius joins him and begins his incessant snickering. Remus rolls his eyes and for the fourth day in a row, attempts to ignore him.

It doesn't work any better than it did yesterday.

"You can stop laughing about it anytime." Remus sighs and takes a long sip of his tea. He swallows slowly. "Really, it's been two weeks, Sirius."

"I just keep replaying the look on Mad-Eye's face when he went from thinking Dora was dead to finding you two in the cellar, you half dressed, and her . . . well . . . and then two of you, snogging . . ."

"You weren't even there when the rescue party showed up. How would you know what he looked like?"

"Kingsley does a great impression." Sirius snickers again, shaking his head.

"You know, I thought you'd be more concerned for your cousin's safety?"

"Oh, I was. But it turns out she was in good hands."

"Stop trying to turn everything dirty."

"I did nothing of the sort. But you have to admit, it was hilarious." He leans his chair back on two legs. "If there was still anyone in the dark about your relationship, well, let's just say it's Order table talk now."

"Sirius, please."

"What? It's a good thing. We could all use some happy news once in a while. Molly was practically bouncing off the ceiling when she found out."

"I know," Remus says, abashed. "She keeps trying to bake for us."

"Let her bake. We can never have enough of that woman's baking."

The line of his mouth curves up in a grin. "You're going to starve when this war is over, aren't you?"

"Probably. C'mon, I need some more to drink," Sirius stands. "I think the really good stuff's in the cellar."

He leads Remus down the stairs, a running commentary going. "So, while we're on the dirty topic . . . you and little Dora―"

"Don't call her _little Dora_. It makes me feel old and lecherous."

"Is that why you haven't, you know . . ." He wiggles his brows.

Remus fumbles on the stairs. "Who told you that?"

"She did. Sort of. Said you were taking things slow."

"We are."

Sirius peels back a ratty curtain at the bottom of the stairs to reveal a decadent wine cellar. "And that's good mate, really it is, gives you time to get to know her and stuff, I just can't figure out why. I mean, she does want to, doesn't she?"

"She keeps asking me when I'll get naked in front of her again, so I assume so."

Sirius snorts and ends up choking on a layer of dust encasing a row of elf-made wine. "Well, you want to, don't you?"

Remus doesn't respond, but becomes exceptionally interested by a label on one of the bottles filled with black sludge.

Sirius smirks. "You're a man, Remus. And she's a great girl. It's normal for you to have these feelings."

"Bloody hell, Sirius, I'm not fifteen anymore."

"Well, my pep talks used to help you. Why not now?"

Remus vanishes the bottle―a pair of eyes had peaked out at him through the black sludge―with his wand. "Things are more complicated now."

"How?"

"What do you mean _how_?"

"You'll have to spell it out for me, cause as far as I can tell, you like her, she likes you. You've been friends―or more than friends―for over a year. What's complicated about it?"

"I don't want her caught up in anything she doesn't want to be a part of. She's young―"

"But not an idiot."

Remus ignores him. "She's young and I'm just not convinced she knows what she really wants."

Sirius blows the hair away from his eyes with a heavy breath. "Then you haven't seen the way she bloody well looks at you. If those goo-goo eyes aren't laden with desire then I'm a flobberworm."

Remus continues to ignore him. "If this is just some crush she's having, I don't want her tangling herself up with a known werewolf. My life isn't easy. You know that."

"I do know," Sirius says. "And I also know she knows that, too. If she wasn't prepared to be a part of it she wouldn't be. You have to know that." He's silent for a long minute, inspecting another bottle of deep gold wine. "Is that all it is for you, mate? Some crush on a girl?"

"What if it is? Are you going to tell me not to hurt her?"

"No, I'm going to tell you to get the fuck out of my house. That girl's fallen in love with you and if you're stringing her along I'm going to kick your sorry werewolf ass back to the country."

Remus laughs. It's quiet, unassuming, and gentle, letting Sirius' threat sink in, validating what he already knows deep inside. "It's not," he says. "Just a crush."

Sirius shrugs. "I know. Just needed to hear you say it. I think you needed to hear you say it, too."

"You always were the best of us at relationships."

"That's what comes from having your heart broken twelve times a year."

"Pretty sure you were the heart breaker."

Sirius scoffs. "Why do people always assume that? Girls at school were terrible. Mean and nasty and demanding. James was the only one who lucked out. Lily was alright."

"She was."

"You always were the smartest of us, though. Guess I should have held out a little longer."

"Your time's not over, Sirius."

"Nah, I've resigned myself to being a bachelor. It'll be me and Kreacher until the bitter end. Just don't forget about me when you send out your Christmas cards."

Remus chuckles, but Sirius doesn't look away. "I'm serious Moony; I want Christmas cards from you two. When you're old and wrinkly and I'm stiff and drunk, I want you two together. I want you to be happy. Just let yourself be happy, Remus."

"Sirius . . ."

"Can you do that? For me? Can you just let yourself love her, no reservations, no fear. Just love her."

He nods, slightly taken aback, and Sirius claps him on the shoulder.

"Good. Now help me pick something stronger than that flowery elf junk."

"I don't think you need anything else," Remus says, pointing at a shelf of hard, clear whiskey. "You're getting preachy."

"You know, she tells me the same thing. You two really are just perfect for each other."

Remus opens his mouth to respond, then furrows his brow. "Did you hear that?"

"Hear what?"

Voices. _Harry?_ Remus shakes his head. "Never mind."

They begin sorting through the bottles for something made this century. Remus looks up a few minutes later to find Tonks coming down the stairs. She smiles over the railing at them. "I'm always worried when I find you two down here."

"Just stocking up, Cuz. Thought you had to work? Were your ears burning? We've been talking about you."

"That's never good. What have you been telling him?"

"Why do you assume―"

"You get preachy when you're drunk," she says pointedly.

Sirius scoffs indignantly, but gives Remus a look, muttering _I told you so_.

Tonks skips down the stairs, like literally skips, and Remus already feels a little lighter as she bounds to his side, her fingers tangling with his, fitting together with an ease that still fascinates him.

He presses a lingering kiss to her temple and she smiles up at him, a little in disbelief at the outward display of affection in front of Sirius, and it makes him think about just how easy it really is to just love her the way Sirius has told him to.

He doesn't miss Sirius' wry smile as he pretends to sort through more ancient wines.

"So, how'd you escape so soon?" Remus asks her.

"Kingsley let me go early. I'm going to head up for a kip. I'm exhausted."

"It's been a long couple of weeks."

Sirius clears his throat. "I'm going to make myself busy upstairs. When you two are good and snogged out join me for a drink."

He waltzes away, grabbing the first bottle within reach and takes the stairs two at a time, chuckling under his breath.

"What have you two been up to?" Tonks asks warily.

"Nothing, he's just been bestowing me with some of his sought after advice."

"I know the kind," Tonks says.

"Yes, well, it hasn't been all bad today."

"Oh, really, and wha―"

Before she can finish Remus has pressed her up against the wall, hands sliding down her waist and fastening around her hips. His breath is hot on her neck and then his lips are on hers, tongue wrestling for entrance and she grants it willingly, sighing into his mouth a little as he catches her bottom lip between his teeth.

"What's all this about?" she gasps between kisses.

He presses against her more firmly, the length of his body meeting hers in all the right places and she can feel her heart pound against her ribs like a fist.

"Just taking some advice."

* * *

Sirius takes his time with the wine. He doesn't exactly expect Remus to shag Tonks in the cellar just because he's told him to get on with his life and love the poor girl, but he doesn't exactly think the two of them are going to surface for air anytime soon.

He stops off at the library first; he grabs the bottle opener off a bookshelf―there is something deliciously satisfying about the pop of the cork without magic.

He takes the bottle to the kitchen and gets to work on filling three glasses, noticing the bat ears poking about around the fireplace. "What are you up to Kreacher?"

"Nothing Master. Nothing. Tending the fire that's all." The elf scurries away, clutching at his loin-cloth.

"We don't bloody well need a fire in June." Sirius turns to throw a jug of Pumpkin juice on the blaze when Snape's head appears in the ashes.

"Bloody fool. Where have you been?"

Sirius grimaces. "Hello to you, too, Snivellus. What are you doing in my fire?"

"That wretched godson of yours has dragged a group of students to the Ministry to face off against Voldemort. If you can bring yourself not to be busy send a Patronus to everyone. Now!"

The head disappears with a poof and Sirius feels the colour drain from his face. He's on his feet in an instant, screaming for Remus and Tonks, a great pearly white dog escaping from his wand.

* * *

Tonks never imagined that the first time she met her Aunt, she'd be involved in a duel for the Prophecy they had been working so hard to protect for the last year.

She also never imagined a bunch of kids would be holding their own against Voldemort's posse, but if she had learned anything over the year it was that you didn't underestimate Harry Potter.

You also didn't underestimate the reachings of a family blood feud.

The room is dark when they appear, the pop of people Apparating the only sound for a long moment, and then they're thrown into the thick of battle, divided and surrounded.

A sharp kind of laugh echoes behind her, sinister and hideous, and everything Tonks hates about the dark arts wrapped into one terrifying sound. It grates along her skin, like a razor, threatening to draw blood.

"Flowers are such delicate things, aren't they?" the voice says, high and pitched and menacing.

Tonks twists and turns in the alley of prophecies, each shadow and glimmer spooking her senses. She follows the sound of the laughter, moving away from it, towards it, she can't tell, until it's upon her, thick and suffocating, black eyes and pale skin morphing into a hideous grin.

"Boo," Bellatrix says, taking a wild step forward, wand arm twisting in the air.

Tonks throws a shield charm across her body and hears something shatter against it, the spell raining down like glass.

"Someone's been training you up fine. Is that your precious mother I have to thank for that?" Bellatrix jerks her arm, sharp and straight.

Tonks ducks behind a concrete pillar, hearing the concrete blow apart behind her.

"Tut-tut-tut, come out and play, Nymphadora. Wouldn't want to keep your Auntie waiting, would you?"

Tonks swallows down the pounding in her heart, sucks down the bile in her throat, gasps in the breath of air she needs to steady herself before flinging herself behind another pillar.

Bellatrix pursues her, a dark shadow twisting in her peripheral.

"I have to say I've had trouble finding you, dearest niece. Lucky for me I found a little friend who happens to know exactly where you live."

Something else shatters behind her and Tonks hears voices, ghostly and clear. Her footsteps echo like thunder around her. But she just needs to get out in the open. Out where she can see. Out where she can make sure Remus is still okay. And Sirius and Harry and―

"Why you would ever go for the werewolf when you could have a pretty thing like Chavers I'll never know."

Tonks freezes, exposed on a platform, just for that split second, and it's enough. She turns to face those hideous, soulless eyes, feels the spell collide with her chest and then she's falling―dropping, tumbling, rolling―down flights and flights and flights of stairs.

The world goes dark before she reaches the bottom. Everything turns cold.

* * *

He's breathing too slowly considering, but the thought of filling his lungs to capacity is just too exhausting.

It's been three days; three days without Sirius, three days since the veil swallowed him into oblivion, and Nymphadora is still unconscious.

This is not how the school year was supposed to end, he thinks. This was not how Harry was supposed to lose his godfather.

This is not how he was supposed to meet her parents, brisk handshakes from the other side of the bed; tight, forced smiles given over Nymphadora's body.

But she hasn't woken up and Remus can't leave her side because he's afraid the moment he looks away from whatever internal battle she's fighting, he'll lose her too. That moment he looked over in the Ministry and couldn't see her anymore his insides turned to some cold kind of stone that threatened to shatter all over the place. When he found her later, unconscious under Mad-Eye's prodding wand, he wanted to crack.

He'd already lost one; he couldn't do it again.

The shadow appears in the doorway and before he even looks up, Remus knows who it is. There's no mistaking that hat.

"Remus," Dumbledore says, "There's something I need you to do."

He's been waiting for this, known it's been coming. Just like last time. He swallows to get his mouth moving again; his fingers clench the edge of Dora's mattress. "You want me to go underground?"

Dumbledore nods, not in confirmation, but resignation. His long fingers curl along his lips, head tipped and eyes half lidded in deep contemplation. "I know it's a lot to ask. Especially now. Just . . . just think about it."

* * *

Days later―he loses count―they see Harry off after the train and instilling a great amount of fear into his Uncle makes Remus feel positively wonderful. Then he remembers that his best mate is dead and the feeling is a little less wonderful.

He looks over and his eyes settle on Dora, on their joined fingers as they navigate their way out of Kings Cross Station. Together. She tosses her head, strands of light pink flying everywhere―only to smile up at him―and the feeling of warmth returns, flooding his chest again.

It's this constant battle between warm and cold, between feeling and unfeeling.

Her presence though, her being up and alive and able to laugh and smile at him again is enough right now and he clings just a bit tighter to her, dragging her just a bit closer until they're rubbing shoulders.

The feel of her skin; knowing that she's there.

It's enough right now.

"Come for lunch?" she says, head tipped against his arm.

"Where?" he asks.

"My parent's place."

Remus bites down a weighty sigh but it's not a decision. He'd follow her anywhere right now. "Alright," he says.

Together they walk to the back alley behind Kings Cross, turning on the spot with synchrony and matching _pops_.

* * *

The house is empty when they arrive. Tonks doesn't seemed surprised. This confuses Remus even more.

"You know, when you asked me over to your parents for lunch I assumed it was because you wanted me to meet them officially. No more awkward handshakes over your hospital bed."

"I _do_ want you to meet them good and proper," she says, pulling him into the sitting room: a bright yellow, flowery thing that reminds Remus of his own mother's taste from when he was a boy. "It's just, they're away in France. Probably better right now. I'm wretched company." She looks up at him on that thought. "Are you hungry? I can probably whip something up. Mum always leaves leftovers lying around. She thinks I'm an incompetent cook."

She means to go to the kitchen but Remus catches her waist and collapses onto the couch, pulling her down with him. "Relax, Dora," he says, holding her still across his lap. He still worries sometimes that the healers let her go to soon. When she moves one way to fast and winces, or when she loses her breath doing nothing at all. He checks her over, satisfied as she watches him.

"What?" she asks.

"So you're parents really aren't here?"

"Nope. What's that look for?"

"They went away so soon after you were injured?"

She huffs a little, wiggling into the corner of the couch. He catches her feet in his hands and his thumbs start a slow pattern of circles that have her eyes closing in contentment. "I asked them to. It's their anniversary," she tells him, mumbling a bit. "Didn't want to bugger their plans and have them fawn all over me. And they would you know, cause they get like that. I literally had to push my dad into the Floo."

"You've been staying here? I thought you said you'd try to get your flat back now that Siri―now that Grimmauld Place is no longer headquarters."

"I, uh―that's still the plan. After Mum says I'm fully healed or whatever."

"Well, I can't really argue with that." He reaches out tucks her hair behind her ear, letting his finger trail down her neck.

She pops her eyes open, suddenly more awake. But as he sees that look in her eyes he pulls away. He's been so cautious with her these last few days since she's been released from St. Mungo's, like he's afraid he'll hurt her.

"You can touch me, Remus; I'm not going to break."

As she says it he gives her a guilty kind of smile. "I know." He still hasn't quite accepted that she's okay. Seeing her cold, limp body at the bottom of the stone steps was an image he doesn't think he'll ever be able to tear from his mind.

She huffs as she leans back against the arm of the couch, tugging on his sleeves. The momentum pulls him down and he catches himself on either side of her head, careful to keep his weight on his arms. She runs her hands up his neck, playing in the softness of his hair.

"Stop looking at me like that."

"Like what," he whispers.

"Like you're looking at a ghost. Like I'm some memory you don't want to think about."

"Dora, it's not that . . ."

"That's all you can think about. That day―"

"You weren't moving. I didn't even know if you were breathing. I thought . . ." he swallows hard, "I thought you were dead."

"But I'm not. I'm right here." She takes his arm and guides his hand to her cheek. He feels the warm flush beneath it as he readjusts, leaning to one side, his hips resting against hers. She pulls his hand down, placing it against her chest, trapping it beneath hers, feeling the steady thump of her heart.

"You were so cold." He presses his forehead against hers. "I miss him."

"I miss him, too."

"I wish we could have buried him properly."

"One day," she says. "When this stupid war is over and everyone can know what kind of man he really was, we'll build him a monument to the sky. And then we'll all get pissed together."

Remus chuckles low, the sound vibrating between them. "He would have liked that." He plays with the strands of pink hair that rest by his hand. "He really wanted this, you know."

"What?"

"You and me. Together."

She grins, one corner of her mouth lifting. "Smart man, that Sirius."

"I don't know what I would have done if I had lost you too."

"You didn't. Don't think about it."

He pulls away, sitting up, his head bowed. "I can't help it. It's all I think about. That next time I could lose you. I'm a werewolf, Dora. I have enemies. The Order makes us targets. People know now. The Death Eaters know now."

"Remus, don't―"

"It's not safe anymore. It never was. I don't know what I was thinking―"

"Then stop," she says, grabbing at his collar with both hands. "Stop thinking so bloody hard about everything for a minute."

"Dora, I―"

"I can be whatever you want, Remus. Just tell me." She sits up, crawling onto her knees, pushing the stray hairs off his forehead. If what he sees right now makes him think about the Ministry, if all he can see is death when he looks at her, she can be something else. Someone he doesn't have to be afraid to love.

She's not going to let him do this: push her away in fear. Tell her it's too dangerous. She bloody well knows how dangerous this situation is and she wants him anyway. She wants him more than anything.

As he watches her, her eyes become a dark shade of brown, darker than chocolate, richer than wood, flecked with shades of gold. It's so different from the usual warmth he sees in her honey browns and greens. This is a fire. This is desire.

Her hair changes too, longer than usual, falling over her shoulders in ringlets. It darkens, pink to red, red to auburn, auburn to brown. It's like watching a flower bloom and fade on fast-forward.

It's closer to the way she looked that night he pulled her from the pub in the werewolf underground, when she lost her morph, when she told him that this was her true self; only this is more refined, this is deliberate.

And it's so normal compared to the pink. So un-Tonks-like; so different.

But she's beautiful and his heart thumps in his chest.

"Dora," he says and it's a growl in his chest as she leans against him, her knees parted on either side of his lap now. _When had that happened?_

She nips at his jaw, her cheek rubbing over the shadow at his chin. The silk of her skin against his stirs his stomach, a coil tightening, his heart hammering.

Her hands trace the contours of his face, then down his neck, creating teasing, tickling patterns that make him shiver. When her hands venture down his chest towards his belt he digs his hands into her hair and kisses her back with as much enthusiasm as he can muster.

She responds eagerly, her lips flush against his.

He growls again, the sound trapped in her mouth as she parts his lips with her tongue. Teasing and tasting. "Stop thinking, Remus."

He groans this time as she rocks against him, his trousers becoming the tiniest bit uncomfortable in the most exhilarating way. She does it again and he has to catch her hips with his hands, leaving the brown twists of hair to fall over her shoulders.

He pulls away slightly, breathless, to find her flushed, her chest heaving, and her eyes darker than before, almost black. She leans back in to kiss him again, this time her lips leaving his and travelling up his jaw towards his ear. Her tongue darts out to stroke the shell of his ear and his head tips back, his hands tightening at her hips. "I don't want to wait anymore," she whispers and he jerks as she settles her weight on his lap, her hips thrusting hard against his.

He feels lightheaded and dizzy, overcome with desire and need and longing.

She uses his distraction to lean back, tucking her hands at the base of her jumper and shedding her top in one fluid motion, leaving her almost bare before him.

The gasp gets caught in the back of his throat. He's stunned at her boldness, at the black lace that covers her breasts, creating a most pleasing juncture between the two. He leans forward, pressing a kiss against the top of her breast.

Her skin flushes with red desire and she moans.

The sound is enough to finish him alone, but he shakes the fog from his brain and wraps his arms around her back, tipping them so she's trapped beneath him. His hand roam up and down her skin, tracing curves of hot flesh, fingers groping and memorizing.

She rocks her hips up, lips hot against his.

"Please, Remus."

His hands trail along her abdomen, around her navel, fingers playing with the button on her jeans. But they tremble and still, and his eyes become heavy as they find hers, blown wide with lust, and then after a moment, confusion. He shakes his head. He can't do this to her, not now. Not when he knows it can't be like this―

He drops his forehead against hers and sighs, his words breaking across her skin. "Dora, there's something I have to tell you."

* * *

"You're leaving?" she says and if she says it one more time she thinks she's going to puke, but she can't stop because each time she does it sounds more ridiculous than the last and she thinks if she can make herself believe that it's idiotic then he'll believe it too.

She's sitting there on the couch, half dressed, her head tilted, trying to absorb his meaning.

Remus hands her the jumper that somehow ended up on the floor. She pulls it over her head, the mood suddenly―and understandably―shifted. When her head pops up her eyes are a curious shade of violet. Wild looking and her hair matches, stressed streaks of violet and grey falling around her head in spiky jets that reach her shoulders.

She looks like he's just slapped her across the face.

He feels like a complete git.

She swallows suddenly and looks at him, eyes bright and confused. His heart breaks a little. "Is this because of the flowers? Did Sirius―_dammit_, sorry―did someone tell you about the letters? Because if that's why, you don't have to go, Remus. I'll take care of it."

The dread he'd been feeling up until this point freezes in his veins and his voice drops, low and cold. "What letters Dora?"

She swallows the curse back down her throat and massages her temples. "No. It's nothing. Don't worry ab―"

"How long have you been getting letters?"

"What does that matter?"

"Dora someone wants to hurt you because you're with me?"

"Not someone anymore," she says with a shrug. It's old news to her. "My Aunt."

"Great, so Bellatrix has it out for you now."

"She's always had it out for me."

"But this," he gestures between them, his hand groping for hers, "is just adding fuel to the fire."

"So what?"

"So what? So what! Merlin, Dora, don't you see what's going to happen here?" He lets her go and runs his hands through his hair, fingers twisted in grey. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"Because I knew you'd react like this."

"So you thought you should hide it?"

"Sirius said―"

Remus straightens and stills, like she's hit him. Shocked him. "He knew too?"

"I asked him not to tell you. Just until I could figure out where the threat was coming from."

He growls, flopping back into the couch cushion. "Is this why you've been staying with your parents?"

"Yes."

Another growl and he buries his face in his hands. If he leaves her she's in danger. If he's with her she's in danger. His chest constricts at the thought.

"But I still don't understand why you have to go," Tonks says, her voice a quiver.

"Because Dumbledore asked me to. Greyback and I have history. And someone needs to make sure he doesn't turn the packs against us. Voldemort doesn't need any more followers."

"He's the one who bit you."

"Yes. But it's more than that―" Remus lets out a shaky breath. "He will hunt you, Dora. If he finds out who you are and you obviously have enough people keeping tabs on you―on us―as it is. Not that you thought it important to tell me?"

"Remus we're at war. We're all being hunted."

"But Greyback won't just want to kill you. He'll want to torture you, maul you, strangle you until you're almost too weak to fight and then watch you squirm for breath. He'll want to hurt you to hurt me, love. After all this time he still wants to hurt me. The grudge he holds against my father hasn't faded, especially with what I've done with my life. I went to school. I taught. I've worked to be accepted in normal wizarding society. He hates me for it and I can't lose you to what I am."

"Remus, don't . . ." She swallows. "Please."

"Dora I have to go."

"Don't go. Tell Dumbledore no."

"There's no one else who can do this. I have to."

"Then we'll figure it out. Something . . . a kind of cover so you can leave―"

His hands wrap around her face. "I love you, Dora. I do. But your love for me is going to get you killed. And I won't have your blood on my hands. I couldn't bare it. I won't lose you like that."

"But if you've given up on us then you've already lost me," she whispers, her face turning towards his palm.

His face is set, determined, but falters when he feels her tears against his hand. He lets her go, shifting away from her. Distance. Physical distance. "But I'll know that I did everything I could to protect you from what I am," he says carefully. Quietly. "And you'll move on and find someone else. Someone more suitable. And you'll fall in love and be so incredibly happy. And if I lose you to that, then it's worth it."

"You daft man." She tries not to sob as she swipes the tears from her eyes. "I'm not going to find someone else. I love _you_."

Remus looks at her then and it feels like the hardest thing he's ever had to do. "Try, Dora. For me. Please."

Her lips quiver and he leans towards her once more to press his own lips to her forehead. "Don't say goodbye," she tells him, forcing the words out between her teeth. "Just don't say anything."


	22. Chapter 22

Remus leaves three days after their conversation in her parent's living room. It's July. The weather's hot, muggy, suffocating. Tonks has never felt so cold.

He doesn't come to her to say good-bye again. She hears it through Molly. He's left with a nothing but a small, patched bag, his worn tweed coat, and a week's supply of her honey-lemon cake.

The same cake Tonks is eating now. Eating but not really tasting.

Molly reaches across the table and squeezes her hand. It's early morning, dawn still dampened by darkness.

She's taken to spending her early mornings at the Burrow with the Weasley matriarch when her shifts end. Molly's an early riser, with all those mouths to feed, though Tonks thinks it's been harder for the woman to sleep since Arthur's attack last December. Her eyes watch that intricate clock carefully, constantly . . . always straying towards the words _mortal peril_.

Still, Molly seems to understand something about daft men and love and she makes good tea; almost as good as Remus.

"Don't give up," Molly tells her. "It'll all turn out alright."

A staggered _pop_ sounds in the yard. Molly looks back at the clock, eyes dancing over Arthur's face, still firmly planted on _work_.

Tonks stands, on the pretense of taking her tea to the sink, but her eyes are on the window that overlooks the yard, scanning for signs of movement; her hand grapples for her pocket where her wand is stowed, fingers tightening as the shadows claw across the yard. After a long moment and several laboured breaths a vision of silver appears and as her eyes adjust, Tonks distinguishes the towering form of Dumbledore from the darkness, crossing the gate with a lanky boy in tow.

"It's Harry," she says, turning to Molly who has begun hastily gathering breakfast essentials.

"He's early. That poor boy . . . out at all hours of the night. Not a lick of meat on him at all."

Tonks catches a stray potato that rolls across the counter and drops it in the sink. If feeding the hungry could win wars, Molly would single-handedly be winning the fight against Voldemort. "Things must have gone well," she says. There's a gentle rap on the door. "I guess Slughorn's still susceptible to the old charm."

* * *

She spends her days off huddled in her old bedroom at her parent's house, tucked into bed and plucking at the soft blanket that migrated from the library in Grimmauld Place when they had to clear out after Sirius' death―the same one Remus covered her with all those nights ago after an evening of too many drinks and Sirius' ramblings. The memory makes her smile. It was one of the few things she took from the house.

She tucks it around her feet, reveling in the warmth―the air's on for the summer and her usually drafty room is almost frigid.

She squeezes her hands into fists, drawing blood back into her fingers as she grips the quill, a stack of parchment on her lap.

She writes to Remus―more than she ought to. She can almost hear his deep, gravelly voice warning her. _Do you know how dangerous this is Nymphadora? If they find out? If they find you?_

But she's tired of hiding. And hiding in a world that already knows who she is―who he is―isn't going to save her. _I don't care_, she thinks. She loves him anyway. Recklessly. Irrevocably.

She scratches out another line on the parchment, balling it up and tossing it to the floor before inking a new piece of parchment.

She wonders absently if the owls even find him because there's never a reply.

Sometimes she wonders if he's even alive.

She hopes that Dumbledore would tell her if there was news from the underground. She tells herself he would and that no news is good news.

Good news. And she hopes, inside her she does, that he wants to hear from her. That her letters bring him some sort of comfort while he's away, struggling to survive with the packs underground.

_Remus,_

_It's been quiet around here lately. I saw Harry the other night. Dumbledore was dropping him at the Burrow. He looks okay; a bit peaky if anything . . . he's grown a lot. He's looking more and more like James, at least from what I remember of that picture Sirius had of the group of you. Look, I know you want me to move on, that you've asked me to forget about you. But I can't. And I know you'll tell me it's dangerous and I'm being irrational. But I still don't care. _

_I miss you. I hope you are well._

_\- Dora_

* * *

August is still hot, though Tonks can't bring herself to enjoy the weather. She's lost the two people she cared about most in the last few months, first Sirius, and now Remus, though there's still hope there. She hopes every day with an energy that winds her and betrays her, making her break down for no reason in the middle of the day; an energy that makes her shake with fury when she finds more anti-werewolf legislation on her desk, courtesy of their "good friend" Umbridge.

_Remus,_

_Werewolves have been banned from all publically run wizarding establishments, save for the Ministry. A list of all known and registered werewolves has been delivered to these businesses. Please stay safe. The werewolf capture unit has doubled since the legislation was passed._

_There're holding cells in the basement now for convicted offenders of the legislation. Thick iron bars laced in Wolfsbane._

_Keep away from Diagon Alley. That's where they're focusing most of their energy after last week's werewolf attack._

_The woman survived. She's in St. Mungos undergoing treatment with a team of Healers. Perhaps that was Greyback's intent. From what you've told me he seems to thrive on power and if his idea is to recruit this way then the laws are only going to come down harder on you and all the others._

_You know where Headquarters is now if you are ever able to get away. Molly's fretting about you feeding yourself out there. Please make sure you eat._

_I miss you still._

_\- Dora_

She tucks the letter into her jacket pocket as the shadow falls across her cubicle. Scrimgeor stands there, leaning on his cane.

"Minister," Tonks says, sitting a little straighter as she runs a hand down to smooth the creases in her robes. "What can I do for you?"

"I may not be Head of the Department anymore but that doesn't mean I don't know what's going on here."

"What do you mean, sir?"

Scrimgeor points his cane towards Chavers' cubicle. Empty. A layer of dust covers his desk. "You two were close, were you not?"

"We were friends, yes." But it's been weeks since she's seen him. Definitely not since before the fight in the Department of Mysteries. Whether this is a coincidence or her fears that he's been taken by Death Eaters is true, she doesn't know.

Though if Bellatrix has her way, Tonks assumes she'll find out soon. She hasn't received any threatening letters lately, but that just makes her all the more cautious.

"Do you know what's happened to him?" Scrimgeor asks. "Has he been in contact with you?"

"No, sir." She lies through her teeth, keeping her face straight.

"Very well. I want his absence recorded as a mysterious disappearance. Any Ministry absences have to be taken seriously. He's one of our own. We can let Voldemort get this close to us. Follow up with Kingsley. I want Chavers tracked down."

Tonks nods curtly. "Of course, sir."

* * *

She's been periodically checking on her old flat when she has the chance to pop by a fire. She left the place with security charms and as far as she can tell no one's been by. Wanted or unwanted.

She's getting fed up with her parent's place. They're hovering and watching her like she's about to erupt. She decides to move back in that weekend and spends the better part of Saturday rearranging her closet. She'd forgotten that some of Remus' things had migrated there before she left.

Just a few old jumpers and a scarf.

She pulls one of the jumpers over her head; it's bottle green with a hole along the collar. It's far too big on her and she has to roll the sleeves several times before she can actively do anything.

She smells like chocolate and peppermint.

She smells like him.

She squeezes the jumper closer to her skin. She misses him.

* * *

Tonks has never minded the quiet; even though most consider her to be the loud and boisterous one of the bunch (must be the hair). She never turns down a good Weird Sister's concert, though, but there's something about that quiet: the time just after a meal when everyone's too pleasantly full to speak, the early morning hush as you wake with the sun, even the quiet lull between thunder and lightning.

That's what she misses about him, she finally decides. He was her quiet. Remus was that charged space of silent energy between the thunder and lightning: the thing that made her feel nervous and excited and giddy; the thing that left her head pounding and her heart racing.

Her heart pounds for other reasons now: ones that terrify her. Because this not knowing―this being in the dark is probably the scariest thing she's ever faced. Tonks isn't one to sit back and let things happen. It's why she became an Auror, and why she said yes to that mild-mannered werewolf all those months ago over a game of chess. But this werewolf business―it's something entirely different; something she can't fix.

"Girl, did you ever think that maybe you stand out too much?"

The Order meeting has finally finished. There's been no news of Remus, though Dumbledore was absent so Tonks didn't really expect much of those that had gathered at the Burrow seeing as he's so far underground his contacts have been severed.

She's thinking so hard about this that when Mad-Eye speaks to her she drops her spoon back in her stew; she's been playing with her food for the better part of an hour now and he's noticed her distraction. Almost everyone else has cleared out already, save for Molly who peels potatoes for tomorrows breakfast with gentle alertness.

Tonks gives a hefty sigh, plops her head down on her fist and stares at him. "Mad-Eye, seriously, not again with the―"

"I'm not trying to get on your case about the pink," he interjects, waving his flask around. "I'm only saying that maybe it's time to start thinking about Remus."

Tonks straightens in her chair. Molly has stopped peeling; Tonks hears as she settles the peeler on the counter. "What are you talking about?"

"I know what you two are risking." He stares right at her pocket where she keeps another letter destined for Remus concealed. "It'll be hard enough for him to keep up appearances. Don't make it harder on him by standing out." He reaches across the table and plucks up a piece of her hair, showing it to her like it's a clue to a mystery they've both been trying to solve. "This draws attention. If you want to stay safe, to stay safe for him, don't make yourself a target."

"Mad-Eye, what are you on about?" The worried father routine is starting to freak her out. She yanks her hair out of his hand and tosses it over her shoulder. "What's happened?"

"Spoke to Remus two nights ago."

"You did?"

"He contacted me to get some information to Dumbledore."

Tonks is nearly out of her chair. "Is he alright? How did he look? He isn't hurt, is he? Wait, how did he contact you? Was it by Patronus?"

"Settle down, girl. He didn't say much, didn't have the time. Looked a right mess. But he asked after you."

"He did?" Tonks drops back into her chair with a gentle _thud_. She's almost breathless by the revelation.

"It was an awful big risk he took to meet me," Mad-Eye continues. "But he wanted to know if you were okay. Asked that I make sure you don't do anything reckless."

"Reckless? What does he mean by that?"

"He can't write you back right now. It's too dangerous. So don't go looking for him just because he hasn't replied."

"Of course," Tonks says, furrowing her brow. "I'd never want him to put himself in danger for me."

"It's not for him, Tonks. It's for you. His owls will be watched. Anything he sends out of the pack could be traced. It'll bring Greyback right to you. He isn't fond of werewolves having relations with wizards. So keep your head down, girl. And keep up with your paperwork. Kingsley said you're behind on your reports."

Tonks picks up her spoon again, her heart thumping. There's a smile on her face that she can't fight despite the fact she's trying to remain professional about the entire situation.

Remus had asked after her.

She stirs her stew twice, caught up in a strangely giddy emotion, before her hand stalls. "Hey, I am too caught up on my reports!"

* * *

When she wakes up the next morning, buried under a comforter mountain, her hair is a mousy shade of brown and her eyes are dark and twinkling. She feels entirely wrong, but maybe this is what Mad-Eye meant about not standing out.

She turns her head from side to side, fighting the frown. With a resigned sigh she dresses in her Auror robes and ignores the desire to morph her hair pink.

If this is what Remus needs her to do―if he needs her to blend in―then it's a small sacrifice to make while he's off risking his life for the Order.

* * *

With the frenzy of activity surrounding the announcements that Voldemort is once again at large―it's sort of impossible for the Ministry to deny after the battle in the Department of Mysteries―the Auror department is twice as busy fielding inquires and responding to incidents.

Tonks has been dispatched twice for Inferi sightings. Both times turned out to be false reports; once because an elderly witch mistook a scarecrow in a farm field for a dead corpse and once for an intoxicated wizard who started a duel with a rather large trashcan.

It's constant coming and going from the office for weeks straight; Tonks isn't even sure when the last time she sat at her desk was.

Kingsley catches her on one of her rare coffee breaks. She's standing and skimming the Prophet, trying to cram a bagel down her throat. Multitasking has become a way of life.

"Word is they're moving you to Hogwarts next month. Need someone on point there."

"Alright." Tonks swallows thickly and looks up at him under a flock of hair. "Where are you going?"

"Security for the Muggle Prime Minister."

Her eyes widen. "Fun."

Kingsley's face is set in a grimace, a permanent fixture as of late. "Maybe not. I think the Ministry's trying to separate Order members."

Tonks folds the Prophet in half. "Why?"

Kingsley shakes his head and gives her a defeated shrug. "We're being infiltrated from the inside. It was only a matter of time."

"So what do we do?"

"Probably best to keep contact at work to a minimum from now on."

"Right."

Kingsley nods and turns to walk away; he pauses before taking a step. "I heard the werewolf capture unit brought in a small pack. They're being kept in the basement."

Tonks' heart beats in her throat.

"Remus wasn't with them. I checked. Just thought you'd want to know."

* * *

September is a busy month. Tonks is stationed in Hogsmeade as Kingsley predicted. She fights off a pack of Dementors her first day on the job; that doesn't entirely surprise her, the thing that does is when she realizes her Patronus has shifted from the energetic jack rabbit to a large, looming and distinctly wolf-like creature. The ghostly vision turns briefly, pointed snout huffing a puff of shimmering steam and her breath catches in her throat.

"Remus," she whispers.

It's not just a wolf, but a werewolf. Big and lanky with curved canines and dark eyes. It tosses its head and plows forward, paws slamming the ground in a silent _thud_.

Her heart thumps until a pack of goats cross in front of her and the Patronus disappears; the Dementors are gone as well.

She looks around, frazzled by the sight before she realizes she's standing in a fenced-in pen, feet caked in muddy straw.

"Ruddy things. Been shooing them off my property for the last week." A man with a wiry beard and crooked nose hangs out the back door of the Hogs Head pub. He wipes his hands on a mottled dishrag.

"That Patronus was a doozy." He gestures to her Auror robes. "You sticking around here?"

"Just got stationed in town," Tonks says, pocketing her wand and dragging her feet out of the mud. Clumps of straw stick to the dragon hide.

The man nods. "We always appreciate someone good with a wand around here. Name's Aberforth by the way. Can I get you something to drink?"

* * *

The month has almost ended. Tonks has taken to staying in Hogsmeade during the week, returning to her flat only to swap her clothes and check her mail―there's nothing but her expected delivery of Witch Weekly and the Quidditch scores.

Aberforth's given her a great deal on a room―it doesn't even smell like goats―which she can't pass up when it makes working so much easier.

It's during one of her weekly meet-ups at the Ministry to leave her activity reports with the department head that she runs into Chavers.

Only it doesn't look like Chavers. He's strung out, eyes wild looking, and there are bruises everywhere she can see. His hands, his face, down his neck. He's being tortured.

He's also trying to kill her.

He slams her against the wall in the back alley behind the Ministry building, the air choking from her lungs. Fingers pinch around her neck, nails biting into her skin.

"Wh―what are you doing?" she croaks, prying him off, her muscles screaming. Adrenaline floods her veins and she smashes her fists against his chest.

He bounces off the opposite wall of the alley and after shaking the haze from his eyes, pulls his wand from the pocket inside his robes. Tonks shields her face and spins, curling against brick with her eyes closed. A spell skims her knee, she can feel the heat of it, and blasts the wall beside her.

Another spell. Another blast. It misses again.

She throws herself to the side, aims her wand blindly, and fires.

There's a sharp crack as the spell collides with bone and for a moment Tonks thinks it's Chavers' head until he collapses, grasping his chest.

Tonks stands on shuddering feet, legs wobbly with energy. A hand wraps around hers, lowering her wand arm, still pointed at Chavers. She turns and blinks up at Kingsley. She's shaking.

"Tonks, you alright?" He squeezes her hand.

"Yes," she breathes. "Fine."

Kingsley kneels then, feeling for Chavers' pulse. "He's alright, been Imperiused by the looks of it. We should send him off to St. Mungos."

Tonks nods. "I'll go let security know."

* * *

She receives a Patronus message from Kingsley later that night once she's stationed back in Hogsmeade.

"Chavers can't remember anything. Must have been part of the curse. The Healers are working with him now. Prognosis looks good."

_Good_, she thinks. What does that even mean when you've been the lackey to Voldemort's right hand Death Eater?

* * *

Chavers returns to work mid-October.

Tonks makes sure to stop in that first morning. "It's good to have you back," she says as he settles in behind a mountain of paperwork.

"It's good to be back."

She sits on the edge of his desk watching him with an intensity that means he won't look her directly in the face. "How do you feel?"

"Better."

And there's a light in his eyes that she hasn't seen in forever.

He twists in his chair, propping his feet up beside her. It's so casual, so Chavers, that she almost forgets that he tried to kill her on their last encounter. That he was possibly the one who broke into her apartment to deliver the warning about Remus. "What happened to the pink?" he asks suddenly, nudging her thigh.

She shrugs. "Just trying something new."

He winks. She forgot how much she missed that. "Always thought you were a brunette."

"Sod off." She rolls her eyes and pushes a stack of files onto his lap. "You've got a lot of work to do. I'm officially done carrying your slack."

"I almost forgot how much of a hard-ass you are. Missed that Tonksy."

"I'm not above putting you back in St. Mungo's, Chavers. Better watch your step." He smirks at her as she leaves and she casts a deadly smile over her shoulder.

* * *

It snows in early November.

She's finished her shift at Hogwarts, said goodbye to Aberforth for the weekend and is just about to get in the shower when the letter arrives. The owl flutters around her kitchen for thirty seconds before bulleting out the window again.

With a sigh, she pulls her robes back on and Apparates to the coordinates on the parchment.

She finds herself in an almost abandoned tree line, only recognizing the deep drawl as Kingsley gives a group of Medi-witches orders. She stalks over to him, smoothing down her wrinkly robes. "Kingsley, they called for backup? Is everything okay?"

He looks at her, his jaw tightening. "I meant for someone else to get that message. Duke or Presley."

Tonks swings her head around, trying to see past him. "Why? What's going on? This better not be some Hippogriff-dung about me being a girl. You know I'll hex you."

"Nymphadora, wait! There's been an attack." Kingsley puts his hands up, colliding with her arms as she tries to shoulder her way past him. It's useless against him. He's like a brick wall. "I'm not sure you want to see this."

"See what?"

"It's Chavers," he says slowly; his hands wrap around her arms and, as she realizes what the glassy look in his eyes mean, hold her up. "He's been killed."

"No," she says, her legs falling out from under her. Kingsley supports her collapse like it's nothing, his face towering above her. "Can't be. I just saw him yesterday. He was . . . he was fine."

Kingsley helps her to the ground, holding her as she struggles against the gasping breaths. "He was Voldemort's pawn, Tonks. That never ends well." He tries to coax her up. "Come on, I'll take you home."

"I want to see him," she says suddenly, the desire fiercely hot as it courses through her. "I have to say goodbye."

"Tonks, it's really best if you don't. Come on. I can take you somewhere else. The Burrow?"

"Kingsley, what are you hiding from me?"

He looks away, guilt turning his features raw.

"Show me."

"Tonks . . ."

"Show me."

He pulls her up by the hands. "It isn't pretty. You really don't have to do this."

"I want to." She thinks she does. _She does_. She owes him that much at least.

Kingsley leads her into the thicket of branches. There's a witch taking photographs and a conjured stretcher hovering between the trees.

She steps over a log and slips. Kingsley steadies her.

She looks down to find a dark streak where she stepped. There's more. A stream of congealed darkness. Thick. Sticky. Blood.

She looks up to where the crowd of Medi-wizards gather.

They part and she sees the body: grossly laid out like an offering. Chavers is bare-chested. Three deep gashes run across his chest and down his stomach. Blood bubbles up like a potions cauldron.

Tonks staggers a little, grabbing a tree for support. She recognizes those gashes: the same she's read in countless case files. Claw marks.

Werewolf.

"Was the werewolf capture unit out?" she asks.

"The moon isn't for another week," Kingsley answers.

"So this was . . . it was . . ."

"Greyback, most likely. Yes."

Tonks takes another step. Closing the distance between her and the body. Chavers' eyes are closed. She thinks it's better that way. She's not sure she could stand to see him otherwise.

As she draws closer something catches her eye: tiny black markings scrawled across Chavers' chest. Words.

She drops to her knees. _Courtesy of the werewolves, Nymphadora_, it reads. Caked in blood. Red, dripping. Still wet.

"Merlin," she gasps, hand drawn up to her mouth to keep the bile down. It doesn't work. She turns and wretches into the bushes.

* * *

_Remus,_

_It's been five months and I don't miss you any less. Aberforth says that if I get drunk enough I'll forget about you, but I'm not allowed to be drunk on the job. So your grandiose scheme isn't going to work and just because you disappear underground on me doesn't change how I feel._

_I just wanted to tell you that because we lost one of our own last week from the Auror department._

_He was a good man. A little too pretty for my tastes (I prefer the mild-mannered professor type) but he was still a good man and my friend._

_Oh bollocks. I don't know how to do this right._

_How do you lose people to a fight you're not even sure you're winning?_

_Just be careful. Stay safe._

_I miss you still._

_\- Dora_

She doesn't tell him about how Chavers' died or that Greyback isn't in the dark about their relationship. He doesn't need the added worry. She doesn't want him to stress about her.

She just wants him. Now more than ever. She wants him out of the underground: to see him smile, to hear him laugh, to have him hold her.

It's been three days since she's sent the letter. She doesn't even really think about it again until a wispy looking owl arrives at her flat in the dead of night, bearing a response. It's the first he's ever sent back. The note is penned on the back of a napkin in dark blue ink, blotchy and bleeding and rushed.

_I'm sorry about your friend. I heard about the attack. It was a werewolf. No need to guess who. But now you see what I've been trying to tell you, Dora. I`m too dangerous for you. This life . . . my life . . . it isn`t meant for you. That could be you next time. So please stop. Forget about me. Cut all ties to our time together. You have to let me go because I can`t hold onto you here._

He doesn`t sign it but he doesn`t need to. He calls her Dora and tells her to forget about him again. She`s hurt and tired and trying to hold onto something when Remus doesn`t think he can is almost crippling.

So she tries to forget about him and throws herself into work.

Lots and lots of work.

Extra shifts. Midnights.

More patrols.

Things for the Order.

She`s exhausted and weary and her hair has never looked more mousy. She doesn't have the energy to change it even if she wanted to.

But she can`t forget him. She`s mad at him more than anything for being a stubborn, noble prat. But he`d still called her Dora.

* * *

It's December before she finally sees him again. Flesh and blood and real.

Molly's sent her an invitation for Christmas but she doesn't go (knowing Remus will be there) because she can't sit across a table and want to smile at him even though he'll do everything he can to ignore her (for her own good of course) because that's the kind of noble prat he is. So she tells Molly she has plans with her parents. She tells her Mum she's got plans with the Weasley's. Both invitations remain open; in the end she resigns to spend Christmas alone. She doesn't feel very much like celebrating.

He finds her several blocks from her flat, wandering in that slow amble that reminds him so much of a child.

She stops dead when she sees him. And before he can utter a word she turns on her heel and disappears into an alley. She`s still mad at him of course, but it's shock more than anything that sends her into a brisk march.

It takes him two minutes to catch up with her, even with his long stride, but he's just happy that she didn't Apparate. That must mean something at least.

"Dora, won't you at least talk to me?"

She stops, turns. Her eyes are pulled together in anger, or hurt maybe. He knows he's hurt her.

"You don't want to hear the things I have to say. And I can't make myself say the things you want to hear, Remus." She turns away again, marching deliberately. If not she knows she won't be able to move. And she wants to move. She wants to get away. But there's a part of her that flutters when she hears his footsteps echo hers, follow hers; they speed up so his stride now matches hers.

"Dora―"

She turns again so fast that he almost slams into her and she has to steady herself against him. They're only a block from her flat now and she has to resist the urge to bang her fists against his chest, lest she make a scene. The waver in her voice almost betrays her. "I spend every week, every moon, not knowing whether you're alive or dead, Remus! And then you just show up out of the blue, pretty much on my doorstep."

She turns away again, anger funneling into the need to move. She's walking the same path they used to walk together, arm in arm. It feels like a million years ago, but still familiar, still something she clings to. He's still following her. "Do you know how hard that is?" she asks even as she walks away.

"I'm sorry," he says, speeding back to her side, clutching his mitts in his hands. She's balled her own fists by her sides, whether from the cold or some strangled emotion she's trying to deal with is unclear. All he knows is he wants to reach out and grab her hand.

He had hoped she'd move on. But that spark is gone. That life. She's mousy and bland and depressed and the well of sadness behind her eyes strikes him harder than any blow he's received in the packs.

And still, against all the duty he feels and all the judgement he's used to reign in his feelings for her, to let her move on, he wants her. He wants her more than anything. Her smiles and laughs and clumsiness and that resolute strength and hope and optimism. He hopes it's still there under everything, that he hasn't stolen it from her.

So he does it. Reaches out and takes her hand, uncurling her fingers and warming them between his own.

She doesn't fight him, but looks at their hands, entwined, and there's something terribly broken in her eyes. A watery sadness.

"What are we doing, Remus?"

"I'm not sure," he says. His forehead tips against hers, his senses filled with her. It's overwhelming and intoxicating and he's fighting her so hard, but not hard enough because he's missed her so bloody much and he wants to be selfish; everyone's telling him to be selfish, so it must be okay.

This desire, this need to be near her, always, forever, it can't be wrong.

"You're shaking," he says, pulling her hands to his lips, breathing the warmth he feels stirring inside against them.

"You can't do this," she says, looking away from him. "Come and go like this."

"I know."

"I don't mean from the pack, Remus."

"I know."

"Nothing has changed for you, has it?"

_Yes_, he wants to scream. _A million times yes!_

He shakes his head _no_ because he doesn't trust his voice. _No_ is the right thing to say.

"You can't keep holding on to me then," she tells him. "It's not fair."

He nods. "You have to let me go, too."

She drops her head against his chest and inhales. "I know." _I don't think I can_.

_I don't want you to._

_Don't go._

_Ask me._

"Do you have to get back to the pack tonight?" she asks.

"No."

"Will you come up for tea then?"

"Do you want me to?"

She nods. _A million times yes._

* * *

They sit on her couch together, curled under the blanket from Headquarters. Her head rests against his shoulder and _she can't let him go_, she decides: no matter what he says. She refuses.

And he can't let her go either, as much as he's trying.

"I have so few people who let me into their life." _Who care _remains unspoken, but Tonks knows.

She cups his face, turning the forlorn gaze on herself. "What do you want, Remus?"

He turns away again, clutching his tea closer to his chest (it must be cold by now; they've been sitting for hours). "Please don't ask me that. We don't all get what we want out of war."

She sighs, a short breath escaping her lips and dancing across his neck. The skin beneath his collar flushes cold.

"Just making sure you haven't changed your mind about me."

He looks upon her then, eyes wide, shocked. "It's wrong, but I could never not feel that way about you. Dora, _I could never_. How could you―"

She smiles a secret little smile. Little, though; definitely just a twist of her lips. She's caught him. His backwards omission. He still wants her. And for now it's enough. It has to be.

"I'm not giving up, Remus."

"I know."

"And I hope you aren't either."

He looks away, placing his tea on the coffee table beside hers. He takes her hand without looking. "You're a stronger person than me. We both know that by now."

"Lies, Mr. Gryffindor. You're just the silent, brooding hero type."

He chuckles, but it's hollow. "Tell that to the pack."

"I won't have to. They'll see eventually. You'll win them over."

"I'm not so sure."

Tonks scrambles up on her knees beside him. "You'll win them over the same way you won me. Noble and brave and wonderful. They'll see. They don't have to follow Greyback."

Her words are whispered against his throat, close enough he knows she hears him swallow. Her lips brush the column of his neck. _Stop_. He should stop this. It isn't why he came here tonight. There were no expectations.

_Lies._

He had all sorts of expectations; he just hadn't let himself hope. Hope is dangerous in his line of work.

"Dora," he mumbles, the words vibrating the spot where her lips finally join his skin. "We don't―"

"You wouldn't deny me a kiss on Christmas would you?" she says, pulling away, a quivering falseness to the happiness she is trying to radiate. "Our last one under the mistletoe didn't work out so well. I was sort of thinking we could try again?"

There it is, he thinks, peering up under his shadow of hair. The little green plant dangles on a gold hoop from the ceiling directly above them. _The little minx._

"Dora," he growls, a little deeper, with a little more warning because her hands have snaked up his chest, resting against his collarbone, finding purchase over his shoulders, and he's quickly losing his resolve. If she doesn't stop this, if she doesn't pull away . . .

"Stop thinking, Remus. For once just do what you want."

"Dora―"

She crawls up, leveling herself with him, her forehead pressed to his. "Remember that day on the hill?"

The day he admitted to himself that he loved her? Of course.

"Just go for it," she breathes.

And he does. For moments they exist outside of everything and she can pretend nothing has changed.

But the night ends eventually and when the sliver of moon fills the sky Remus leaves.

He makes her no promises and tells her to forget him. He's still too dangerous.

She leans up on her toes and busses him on the cheek. "I don't care, you daft man. When are you going to understand that?"

He leaves with a careworn smile and the shadow of her lip gloss on his cheek.

* * *

She goes to her parents for Christmas after all. It's not exactly Christmas anymore, but her parents still have the decorations up and they eat leftover turkey sandwiches. She's just trying to take her mind off Remus.

"Darling, what's the matter?" her mother finally asks after the silence has become stifling. "You're positively fumbling tonight."

"I'm fine. Why?"

Her dad clears his throat. "Your mother's been worried about you. You've been so distant since, Re―_he_ left."

Tonks shakes her head and wipes her mouth on a napkin. "I've just been bogged down with work, that's all."

"That's not it," her mother says. "You look absolutely distraught."

Tonks shifts in her seat and it's enough.

Her Mum levels her with a hard, questioning gaze. "He's been to see you, hasn't he? He came back."

"Mum, it's not . . . it's . . ."

"Don't you dare say complicated, Nymphadora. Your father and I _know_ complicated. He doesn't get to do this to you."

"He's not doing anything," she says, throwing her hands up. "That's the problem."

"Darling, you can't keep waiting around for him."

Tonks drops her sandwich on her plate, uneaten. "And that's _my _problem. See, I'm really good at falling into things. And I _can't _stop falling for him." She shrugs, a watery smile breaking her trembling lips. "I love him, Mum. And I can't stop. Not when I know he loves me, too."


	23. Chapter 23

**A/N:** **This story is now rated M ― for swearing and sexy times (in this chapter especially). If you are underage, or if this is going to offend you in anyway please do not continue reading. I'll be sad to lose you but hopefully you've enjoyed the story up until this point and will walk away knowing that everything is going to be alright by the end. Not perfect, but they're not going to die. That much I promise.**

**I also wanted to apologize for the disjointed way this chapter and the last have been written. I've tried to cram the course of a year into two chapters because I really don't like when our two main characters are separated, so bringing them back together might have felt a bit rushed.**

**But hopefully by the end of this chapter we'll be set up to begin Harry's seventh year at Hogwarts (which he obviously doesn't attend).**

**And _ugh_ this chapter literally killed me to write. So many emotions. So much build up. Like the entire thing has literally built up to this point and will now build off of this point. All I can say is I am glad to be out of the angst for a while. It should be smooth sailing . . . at least for a chapter or two ;P**

**Sorry about the long note and if you are continuing with the story (I repeat, it's now RATED M) thanks for your continued support and I'd love to hear what you thought! :D**

* * *

January just plain sucks.

Tonks has taken to casting warming charms on her mitts before venturing out of the Hogshead and into the streets. Any Death Eater moronic enough to come out in this weather is simply going to freeze to death, so she spends most of her shift sipping Butterbeer with Aberforth while he reinforces his goat shed.

She works an endless line of night shifts after that and shows up at the Burrow for the next Order meeting feeling much like an Inferi herself.

That's when she runs into Remus again.

He's a mess. He hasn't shaved in weeks, maybe since she last saw him at Christmas. There are new lines around his eyes and patches of bruised skin beneath his jumper.

He can't stay, only crosses the boundary of the yard to speak with Dumbledore and Mad-Eye. It's only because she's late that he sees her at all.

"Remus?"

"Dora," he says, face brightening as he takes her in. "I'm sorry, I'm in a hurry. How've you been? I hadn't heard from you recently and I thought . . . that maybe . . . after Christmas . . ." His eyes hold something so vulnerable and breakable, glassing over like they're meant to shatter at any moment.

She gives him a half-smile. "That I'd finally taken your advice?"

He looks down at the fence where his hand has wrapped around the wood, fingertips blanching. "Yes. That."

"I told you I wasn't giving up. And I haven't stopped writing. If you haven't received anything I expect the letters are being intercepted."

"Greyback," he says immediately, a new flash of worry lining his face. "Don't write anymore."

Tonks ignores this. "How is that all going anyway?"

"There's little I can do here right now. More anti-werewolf legislation has gone into effect and Greyback has the pack up in arms about it. He's using it to turn them feral, to turn them against their humanity. It's dangerous, Dora. There's going to be attacks. That's what I was here warning Dumbledore about. I expect he'll cancel all future Hogsmeade visits. You should talk to the Ministry as well. Get yourself a position behind a desk."

"You know I can't do that."

"You mean you _won't_."

Tonks bites her lip. He's right, _really_. She could ask for a position behind a desk, a menial job that would put her out of the line of fire. Make her the sole author of office gossip. Make her a caddy to the likes of the Aurors out risking their lives for justice.

But she won't do that because that's not what she signed up for. It's not who she is.

"I won't," she agrees gently and Remus' thin lipped smile and dodgy look is enough for her to know he doesn't agree with her.

"Even if I asked you to? If I begged you to get off the streets?"

"Even then," Tonks says. "It's where I'm supposed to be, Remus. It's where I'll be of most help. Where the people are."

"I'll worry," he says. "Every day. Every moon."

"The same way I worry over you at every moon?"

He looks away at the trees. "Yes, I suppose."

She rests her hand atop his, curling over and under the divide between his fingers.

He sighs when he looks back at her, somewhat in relief, but doesn't move to close the distance between them. "I'm still no good for you, Dora. Too old, too poor, too dangerous."

"I don't care."

He gives a resigned kind of laugh, his pale eyes twinkling under the lengths of hair that fall around his face as he studies their shoes. It's easier than looking her in the eyes, she supposes, but she'll have none of it and dips her head to the side so she can make eye contact with him. "I mean it, Remus. I really don't care."

"You keep saying that and I keep wondering when it'll change; what has to happen or what I have to do to make you understand." He squeezes her hand: the first gentle assurance that he's missed her as much as she's missed him. "I do have to go, though."

Tonks swallows, her throat suddenly thick. She knows it will never last long, these brief moments she has with him, not while the underground demands his attention. Not while this war splits them apart. But it doesn't make saying goodbye any easier. "I expect this will be the last I hear from you for some time then?"

He frowns and for the briefest moment lets his hand wander, the warmth leaving her fingers and coming to rest against her cheek. He strokes his knuckles against the skin there, flushed with cold, but warming with heat in the wake of his touch. The way he moves is so gentle, so reverent, that she's compelled to throw herself into his arms and beg him not to go back. She'll do it, whatever he wants―come out of the field, quit her job―if only he'll stay.

She knows he won't though. She can see it in his face, the sorrow she sees in his eyes as he looks at her, attempting to memorize in case this is the last time.

"I expect so," he finally says. The moments have bled away while he's been looking at her, time trickling by in the heavy silence of two aching hearts, and she's almost forgotten what she had asked him. "There's no promise I can make you that you deserve, Dora."

"Just promise me you'll be safe."

His mouth pulls into a thin line and she understands. He won't even make that promise. He can't. "Good bye, Dora." He sweeps his hands through her hair, tucking the mousy brown strands behind her ear.

Then he's gone, disappearing into the trees beyond the property line.

She sits on the fence for several minutes after he's Apparated; it takes Molly coming out to retrieve her before she goes inside.

Her fingers are numb and maybe the rest of her is as well. She can't really tell. Can't even taste the brandy Mad-Eye pours into her cup as she sits at the elongated dinner table, crushed between a pair of Weasley's. But maybe it's for the best. If she can't feel anything then she can't feel how bad she really misses him.

She ignores the blanketed stares that come her way for the rest of the meeting and when it's over, leaves before Molly even has dinner on the table.

She has nothing left to say tonight.

But she does have a job to get back to and if she can't do anything else, she can at least make sure Hogwarts stays safe.

* * *

In February the snow stops but it's so bloody cold still that everything stays covered in a blanket of white and ice.

It's already late evening judging by the placement of the moon―only a sliver tonight―and Tonks is just finishing up her shift monitoring the Hogwarts grounds; she's looking forward to a hot bowl of stew if Aberforth is awake and maybe a Butterbeer.

She slows as she nears the inn, seeing the shadow that falls across the door to the Hogshead. She follows it back to the alley and that's when she sees him. Remus.

He's there, standing at the end of the street, hidden in the shadows of the building, except for his face which catches the warm yellow glow coming out of the Three Broomsticks.

Her breath stalls.

He's lean and lank, almost a shadow himself, but he smiles at her, just a turn of his lips, and she's closed the distance between them at a run, already in his arms.

"How did you get away?"

"Werewolf Capture Unit showed up. It'll take a while for the pack to pull back together."

He leans forward and presses a kiss to her lips. It's not chaste or quick or light, but heavy and needy and when he pulls away she's breathless. "I've missed you."

"How did you know I was here?"

"Your letters. The ones you were supposed to stop writing." He smirks. She feels it as her fingers brush his lips. "You've talked about Aberforth enough . . . and the goats. I never took you for a goat girl."

She laughs and hugs him again and he lets her―there in the street―just wrap her arms around him and sway like any other couple in love. It's dark anyway, and there aren't many people around, but this screams anything but vigilance to Tonks and she can't bring herself to care.

When she looks up at him he's ready and presses another kiss to her lips, spinning them this time so she's against the wall of the alley and he can use his hands to wrap around her head and in her hair.

"Merlin, I've missed you." He kisses her everywhere he can reach while she's dressed for war in the snow, but as good as it feels and as hard as her heart is hammering against her ribs, she doesn't understand.

"Remus, I thought . . ."

"I know. I'm sorry." He pulls back, looking apologetic and guilty and like he's done something incredibly wrong; in his mind he has, but Tonks pulls him back in, taking whatever he'll give her.

"Don't apologize," she says, kissing him again. It's softer, slower; she's coaxing him back from the place he's gone suddenly, the one where everything he wants from her feels wrong.

This isn't wrong. It can't be. Not when it feels so, _so_ right. Her hands slip beneath his jacket and curl into his jumper, pulling him closer.

He rests his forehead against hers. "Let's go inside. If Aberforth will still have me?"

"He doesn't care about the Ministry or werewolf Legislation."

Remus smiles sadly and pushes a lank piece of hair away from her face. "I was hoping he wouldn't."

When she takes him inside and leads him up to her room Aberforth just offers a knowing nod. Some of his other patrons nod as well. A werewolf would hardly be the worst company in the bar tonight.

He watches her move about the room, finishing up her work, changing for bed before he finally urges her under the covers. She's been stalling off going to sleep because he's here.

It's bittersweet, Tonks thinks, having him here now. Her shift has caught up to her and all she wants to do is sleep but she also wants to be with him.

She tugs on his arm as he rolls the comforter up to her chin. She rolls her eyes at him and he finally relents and lies down next to her and tells her to sleep.

He won't be here in the morning and she doesn't ask.

She just rolls onto her side and watches him, fights off the weight of her eyelids.

She squeezes his hand, threading their fingers together.

Remus smiles. He doesn't have many people in his life that he considers friends, and though he'd like to be so much more to her, Tonks is still first and foremost his friend.

And he's so determined to keep these friends, to have people who want him despite the lycanthropy, that he wrestles with himself, because he's spent a good part of his life looking the other way for the people he called his friends, just because they let him call them friends; so when she asks him these things―_stay for a while, hold me―_he can't refuse her. Part of him says it's him being selfish. He's missed her.

Of course he's missed her; it's the same way he'd miss breathing.

But it's also because he's trying to keep her: her loyalty, her friendship. He's pushing and pulling at the same time and he knows she feels the strain of it, the burden. It's another reason why she deserves more than him, why she's better off without him.

So long as his life is tied to Greyback, there are risks, dangers, more so than just a transformation once a month.

But he indulges her, as well as himself, and holds her until he thinks she's asleep.

He doesn't stay through the night. At some point he slips from around her and stands, pulling his jacket on.

She watches him in the dark through her eyelids. She's been waiting for this.

She doesn't move except to breathe and she doesn't stir when he pushes her hair back to press a kiss to her forehead.

When he finally closes the door to her room and she hears his squeaky footsteps on the stairs, she releases the shaky breath trapped in her lungs and for the rest of the night promises herself that he'll be alright. That he'll come back to her somehow.

She doesn't know if he will.

All she has is that same feeble hope she's been holding onto this entire time.

* * *

With March winter finally relents and the first buds appear on the trees and Tonks has never been so happy to shed her heavy clothing. The scarves and hats and multitude of mitts that Molly has knitted her find their way under the bed in her room at the Hogshead.

She slips into her favourite trench coat and is glad to be back to her old self now that Apparition lessons have started for the sixth years. Tonks has been put on perimeter watch whenever they're in Hogsmeade seeing as the Dementors have taken to visiting the town again.

With all those giddy and excited emotions from the students bouncing around she isn't surprised really, though casting her Patronus day in and day out starts to exhaust her.

She's taken to eating dinner at the Hogshead with Aberforth before the nightly pub crawl begins. He's privy to a lot of information thanks to his cliental and that's how she finds out that the werewolf underground has been preparing to make a move against the Ministry and that last month, when Remus came to her because the Werewolf Capture Unit had shown up, it was supposedly a test run.

She picks up bits and pieces from Aberforth over the weeks and passes along what she can to the Auror department.

Security at the Ministry is doubled and when Tonks returns to her flat that weekend to gather some more of her belongings and check her mail there's a claw mark down her door where five perfectly sharp nails dug into the wood.

Greyback knows it was her.

He knows she's the mole that took the information to the Ministry.

She doesn't go inside her flat. Instead she charms the door closed, vanishes the claw marks, and Apparates back to the Hogshead. When she walks inside, Aberforth is dusting off a set of mugs. He points up the stairs. "You have a visitor."

Her heart lands somewhere in her stomach and she feels the colour drain from her face.

Aberforth tosses the rag over his shoulder. "Do you really think I would send you up there with a Death Eater, girl?"

"No, I just―"

"It's that bookish looking fellow you were here with last month. Asked if he could wait up there for you. I let him in."

Remus? Her head snaps towards the stairs and Aberforth chuckles.

"Thought that might change your tune." He pours two Butterbeer's and places them on a tray for her. "Go on. Bloke's already been waiting for a while. He looked dead on his feet. Best go and make sure he's still breathing."

When Tonks scales the stairs and opens her door she isn't surprised to find Remus scanning the collection of books she's gathered here these past few months.

He turns as soon as she enters and his eyes light up.

Tonks sees what Aberforth was talking about right away. There's a series of rough scratches along the side of Remus' neck and yellow patches where bruises have healed and then re-healed.

She places the tray down on the dresser and goes to him, her hands finding the places he's been hurt. "Remus, what's happened to you?"

He smiles at her and shakes his head. "It was a rough moon this month. That's all."

"That's all? Remus, they've hurt you."

"I'm fine. Tell me how you are? Have you seen Harry lately? Is there much news from the Order? I haven't been able to get away for a while."

They sit on her bed and talk for hours. Tonks forces the first Butterbeer on him and then the second. The bones in his face are more defined and she can see how his clothes sag on him. Molly would freak if she saw him like this.

When he stands to leave it's pitch black out and Tonks catches his hand by the door. He pulls it up to his mouth and kisses her fingers gently.

When his lips pull away she crushes him in a hug. "Remus, stay? Please."

"I love you," he whispers against her neck, broken and resigned. "I love you. I love you. Merlin, do I ever."

_But I can't stay with you_ is the unsaid thing that hangs in the air. _We can't do this._

"Remus, please don't leave again," Tonks says, pulling away. "I . . . I'm not sure I can do this anymore."

He sighs and shakes his head, looking longingly from her to the door. "You know I can't, Dora. My world is too tied up in the pack."

"Just let them go," she begs. "Fresh start."

"There's people there who need my help."

"I need you too, Remus."

He stiffens at that and she doesn't know if it's anger or if she's hurt him. "I told you I didn't want this for you. To depend on a dangerous old man who can't give you what you deserve."

"But I love that dangerous old man."

"And that's what makes me darkest of all."

His fist squeezes down on the door handle until she hears it squeak. Tonks wraps her arms around herself. "You're not a Dark Creature."

"I am, Dora. You just don't see it anymore."

"Love is blind," she agrees.

"That's the problem. I've let myself hold on and all I've done is drag you down."

"I don't care."

"I do. I care about what happens to you. And I know it's not enough for you. That you don't like it. But it has to be enough for me because this, what we're doing, it's not fair." He lets his hand land on her arm once more before he opens the door. "You have my heart, Dora. Always. I just can't have yours where I'm going now."

He doesn't come to see her again after that and there's a period of weeks where her old fears creep up and she wonders if he's finally fallen at the hands of the pack.

She doesn't stop writing him, but her letters become fewer and eventually she just leaves them on her dresser, a pile of unsent thoughts, unheard emotions. _I can't keep doing this_ she thinks. _Can't keep thinking about him._

The only problem: she doesn't know how to stop.

* * *

_June _she thinks. It's always _fucking_ June.

She met Remus in June and he stole her heart; she hasn't seen him for months, until the battle tonight.

They lost Sirius in June; they lost the prophecy in June.

And now, again in June, Hogwarts has been attacked by Death Eaters. One of their own―one of the Order―has betrayed them most grievously and because of it Dumbledore is dead.

She's beginning to hate June.

The hospital wing is cold and she squeezes her hands, feeling the tips of her fingers curl into the cut-off dragon hide gloves. There's a chill that won't quite leave her and her teeth rattle because of it, but maybe, if she'd just admit it to herself, her teeth are rattling so hard because she's trying not to cry.

Dumbledore is dead. Snape has murdered him.

Remus is standing two feet away from her―looking at her, looking away, looking back again―and she doesn't know what to do or how to feel right now. All she wants to do is hold him; crush him in her arms, but she doesn't know if he wants that. Doesn't know if this is the time or the place to be concerned about those things because they're all tired and broken, gathered by Bill's bedside while Molly and Fleur cry together.

Remus offers his help, his advice. He knows werewolves; he is one.

This is manageable is what he's saying; he's giving them hope.

And that's when it hits her: he'll give them hope but keeps none for himself. The weary confusion she feels is momentarily struck down by anger and she says _bollocks_ to it all. She doesn't care if this is the bloody right time or place.

She just doesn't fucking care anymore.

And she tells Remus this. In front of them all. She tells him despite his look of shock and then awe.

"It's different," he tells her. He's pleading. Trying to make her understand these impossible circumstances. "He won't be a full werewolf."

"I don't care!" she says, fingers wrapped around his robes. "I've told you a million times . . ."

"And I've told you a million times. I'm too old . . . too poor . . . too dangerous."

Tonks stills then, the fire gone out of her. And she feels it, really feels it, draining from her. "I don't care," she tells him one last time. "And I can't say it anymore." She lets her hands fall down the front of his robes. "I won't."

Without another word or thought she turns and rushes from the Hospital Wing, mentally exhausted. She can't argue anymore tonight; it's too hard with Dumbledore gone. It's too hard to hold onto that hope when the greatest hope they had now lies still beneath the night sky.

She grabs the railing as she reaches the stairs, steadying herself. She feels winded, like she's just been hit with a stunner, and finally the tears begin to thread down her face.

Tears for Dumbledore.

Tears for Remus.

Tears for Molly and Fleur and Bill.

Tears because she was stupid enough to believe Snape was on their side.

Tears for Harry. How many people can that poor boy lose?

She swipes at her eyes, letting gravity drag her down the stairs. There's so many in this stupid school and she just wants to be anywhere but here.

"Dora!"

She groans because of course it's him. Even if she didn't recognize his voice from the distance, no one else here calls her Dora. She looks up; Remus is two flights above. He's running.

"Dora, wait."

"Not tonight, Remus. I just can't do this right now." She scales another flight, feeling the marble railing slide beneath her fingertips.

Remus catches her. His legs are longer sure, but it's so fast that she knows he must have been hopping them two at a time, that and the fact that he's out of breath.

"Dora, please." His hand lands on her wrist, but she curls out of his grip and follows the railing down another flight of stairs. This is how it is with them. He's always leaving and she's always chasing him, until she isn't, until she can't bear it anymore and then he's the one chasing her, but it never lasts with him.

He always leaves again.

Finally Remus has had enough and flies down the stairs next to her, turning and stopping on the landing below. It happens so fast that she runs into him, right into his arms. She can see the front door from where they stand now. All she wants is that fresh air.

She's suffocating in here. She's suffocating in his arms.

A fresh wave of tears gather behind her eyes, along her lashes, dripping over and off her cheeks. She feels them on her chin, her neck, salty against her tongue. She dips her head until his hand catches her, lifting her chin and forcing her to look at him.

Her breath stalls because she's missed him so much.

His eyes crease at the corners like he's happy. Happy to see her, happy to be with her, but that's a lie because they can't have happy. He won't let them.

"Dora, we need to talk."

"We've talked enough, Remus. I know how this goes. Too old, too poor, too dangerous. You're a werewolf, you could kill me. Greyback wants us both dead. Dumbledore is gone and so is our protection. The Order is falling apart. Harry is falling apart. Voldemort is getting that much closer and I'm sure the pack will rip you apart right after they find out who you were fighting for tonight."

She's out of breath when she stops and in response Remus just gives her a little grin. It's so bloody confusing that she wobbles in his arms and he stoops to catch her, one hand wrapping around her waist, the other holding her arm.

"All those things are true."

"Then why are we talking?"

"Because there's other things you left out. Other things that are true, _too_. And that's what I have to talk to you about."

She pushes out of his hold, confused again, finding strength in those feelings. "I don't care anymore, Remus. That's true, too. Just let me go."

She walks the last flight of stairs and reaches for the door, marching out and down the stone steps, inhaling deeply. She's on the path leading to the gates, weaving through wide-eyed, confused students, when he finally catches up again.

"Dora, where are you going?"

"I don't know. Away from here. I can't do this with you, Remus." She pauses, grabbing onto his arms and forces him to stop. "I can't reason with you anymore. I can't even reason with myself."

"I'm not here to reason with you."

"Then what do you want?"

"To apologize."

"I don't want to hear that either." Tonks throws her hands up and stalks away, passing through the school gates. She's kicking at the gravel as she makes her way back to Hogsmeade. The town is desperately quiet. People have disappeared inside at the sight of the Dark Mark over Hogwarts.

_No place safer_, Tonks thinks. _Yeah right._

She half expects the door to the Hogshead to be locked but when she pulls on it the door swings open with ease. Aberforth is sitting at the bar, nursing a mug of something strong; fire whiskey judging by the smell.

He turns at the sound of her footsteps.

"He's dead, isn't he?"

Tonks lets the air pass from her lungs before she speaks. "I'm really sorry, Aberforth."

He shrugs. "Minerva sent an owl. Thought I might just been imagining it?"

Tonks shakes her head, swallowing enough to hold back a string of tears.

"Are the kids alright? Did anyone else . . ."

"There were some injuries," Tonks admits quietly. "But no other fatalities, at least as far as I know. The school's pretty shook up right now."

Aberforth nods to himself.

Tonks makes her way to the stairs.

"Girl?"

"Yes."

"Who was it, in the end?"

"Snape," Tonks says, the name curdling on her tongue like sour milk.

Aberforth takes a long swig from his mug and then stares down at the empty flask "Never did like him much. Albus thought he was alright though. Shows how much he really knew."

Tonks nods. Apparently they were all fooled. Aberforth dims the lights with his wand then and Tonks takes that as her queue to leave. She walks up the winding staircase to her floor and almost shrieks before a hand is clamped over her mouth.

She wrenches it away, wand drawn up.

"Merlin, Remus! I almost hexed you. How did you―"

"Back door. Dora, please, stop running."

"Oh, cause you know so much about that, don't you." She nudges him out of the way to unlock her door. He follows her inside, closing the door with a soft thud.

"Dora, I _am_ sorry."

"Stop saying that." She turns away. "I told you I don't care anymore, Remus."

He nods. "You know . . . I've spent months being the worst of myself and each time I came to see you I thought you'd finally understand what I've been saying. But you didn't . . . every time you just loved me harder, so I ran. You're right about that. I did run."

Tonks holds the edge of the bed, balancing against the footboard. She can't look at him.

"But you're still fighting for me, for us, and I don't want you to fight anymore."

She rubs her face with her hands. She doesn't want to fight either. But she loves this man. This stubborn, noble to a fault, ridiculous man who won't let himself love her. "Remus, I'm _not_ giving up. I just―"

"I know," he says, walking around her; he takes her hands in his, warm and tangible and it feels like forever since she's felt him like this. Her stomach flutters at the contact. "I know that," he says again. "I don't want you to _have_ to fight anymore."

She looks up at him. "What are you saying?"

"I'm not going back underground, Dora. I'm done. I was on my way to Hogwarts tonight to tell Albus. That's what I was doing here. I was going to see him and then I was coming straight here to tell you."

"So you're staying?"

His nod is freeing. He is staying. And he's going to love her, whatever comes of it now. He can't _not_ be with her. Their fingers thread together and her head falls against his chest.

Dumbledore is dead. The Order is without its secret keeper. Chaos melts all around them, but all Remus can feel in this moment is an overwhelming sense of peace.

"I love you," he says against her hair.

She picks her head up. "I know."

"I haven't been very good to you over the last year and I'm sorry."

"I know." Her voice is thick. There's tears pooled along her lashes. They reflect in the dim light of the room.

"I still don't deserve you."

She chuckles at that, a breathy, sad sound. "Well, you'll just have to keep trying then, won't you?"

"I intend to. For as long as you'll let me."

"Forever," she says, squeezing into his embrace.

"Forever is a long time," he says. "It's days and nights and moons. So many moons. What I said before about too old, too poor, too dangerous being true . . . I meant it. That hasn't changed, but I can't keep pushing you away. I want this too much. Does that make me a terrible person?"

"I don't care," Tonks says, a laugh bubbling over the sadness. "I want it to be forever. I want you forever."

His hands are on either side of her face, thumbs brushing over her cheeks. "Then marry me." He wants to make the promise. He wants everyone to know, regardless of what it means, regardless of the danger. If war is going to destroy them in the end he wants to give her every piece of himself. If that's what she wants.

He drops to one knee, taking her hand in his and Tonks sits on the bed―more like collapses from shock. He slides a ring on her finger. It's a thin, silvery band, twisted together around her finger like vines, with a flowery shaped diamond at the center.

There's a heavy pressure behind her eyes and before she understands why, there's tears beading along her lashes and she's laughing and nodding, her free hand drawn up against her trembling lips.

"Is this a yes, then?" Remus asks, his smile boyishly crooked. He looks so carefree, so young in that moment, like the weight of the world has melted from his shoulders and he's allowed to just ask for what he wants.

"Yes," Tonks whispers. He releases her hand and she holds it up, the diamond dancing in the lamplight. "Remus, it's beautiful."

"It was my mother's."

Tonks lowers her hand and looks at him in surprise. "And you've just been carrying it around in your pocket?"

"For months," he tells her. "I've wanted to do this for months."

"So tonight, when you came here to see Albus . . . before all this happened, were you coming to ask me to marry you?"

"I was . . . then I thought that maybe after the battle, after seeing what Greyback did to Bill you'd finally decide you didn't want that. But you just yelled at me in the middle of the Hospital Wing in front of everyone and told me you didn't care. It was the happiest I've been in a long time." He twists the ring on her finger with his thumb and catches her eye. "Except for maybe right now, _Future Mrs. Lupin_."

Tonks surges forward and kisses him then with the kind of desperate urgency people who are drowning gasp for air with. He kisses her back with just as much vigour and they both go tumbling to the bed, her trapped beneath him, and for the first time in almost a year, Tonks doesn't have to hope or pray or wish because he's right here.

Remus isn't leaving this time.

He's promised her forever.

And it's all she's ever wanted; he heart soars at the thought as her body wrestles with his, lips and teeth and tongue moving in tandem.

He pulls away and she can feel it in her stomach: red hot desire. She wants him, all of him. Desperately. Urgently. She wants his skin against hers, his body pressed over hers, their limbs tangled together.

There's a flash of something in his eyes when he looks at her, breathing hard, and she thinks maybe he wants it too.

"We can wait," he says. "It doesn't have to be tonight."

She shakes her head and offers a gentle smile. "I want it to be tonight."

She yanks him back into a kiss.

When they break apart he shrugs out of his jacket, straddling her thighs, and shucks it onto the floor somewhere, falling back down against her, hands pinned on either side of her head to kiss her. She reaches for him, her fingers skimming his jaw, scratching at the short hairs that fill in his beard―he hasn't had a chance to shave lately.

As he kisses her and she kisses back, he manages to move them up the bed so her head's resting on the pillow and he stretches out over her, settling his weight with careful precision.

"Is this okay," he asks, chest heaving against hers.

All she can do is nod before his mouth is on hers again, tongue probing for entrance.

When he's battled her tongue for dominance, neither of them giving in, and swallowed her sighs, his lips drift across her face leaving kisses on both eyelids, her cheeks, just behind her ear and he's rewarded with a lengthy moan.

"You're wearing too many clothes," he says then, realizing she's still in her trench coat. He runs a foot down her leg and the fang charms on her boots rattle. He smirks and she giggles into his chest. She actually _giggles_ and it's the most wonderful sound he's ever heard.

She squirms beneath him and after some huffing that makes her hips glide deliciously over his, manages to kick her boots off. They hit the ground with two matching thuds and Remus wonders if Aberforth has guessed exactly what they're up to.

That thought doesn't stop him from pulling her coat over her shoulders though; he's not sure anything could stop him now. And soon she's lost her Auror robes as well and it's just a lime green Weird Sister's tee, his jumper, her favourite faded jeans, and his slacks that separate them.

"You're still wearing too many clothes," he says, hands splayed under her shirt, feeling the warmth and softness of the skin on her belly. Her muscles shudder against his touch and her breaths come out in panting waves against his neck.

"Then do something about it," she says, arching up as his hands move to grasp her breasts. Her nipples pucker against the fabric of her bra where he rubs his palms. "Uhn," she gasps, dragging her hips along his. She can feel him harden above her, pressing against her thigh.

He chuckles low. "Don't do that, Dora, or this might be over too soon."

"Fast is okay," she says, meeting his lips for another bruising kiss.

He shakes his head, his hair brushing her forehead. "I've wanted this for too long. I don't want to rush it."

She rolls her hips against his again and he groans, dropping his head against her shoulder. "I've wanted this for a long time, too."

She nudges him with her knees and he rolls onto his back, pulling her with him. For a moment she's almost too dizzy to see, straddling his waist. Then he comes into focus, a coy grin on his face. She reaches for the hem of her shirt and pulls it over her head.

Her heart thunders in her chest, pressing against her ribs with maddening speed―faster and faster―until his hands land on her newly revealed skin, and then she thinks her heart has stop altogether.

She leans over him, hands on his chest as his fingers trail up her spine, playing over her vertebrae, only pausing when they reach the clasp of her bra.

"Yes," she sighs at him, giving him permission.

The clasp snaps open under his deft fingers and the bra slides down her arms. Remus' gaze is almost reverent. His pupils are wild and black, highlighted by the moon, but there's no reservation in them the way she's grown accustomed to seeing―only want, only need.

He wants her.

He runs his thumb over one puckered nipple, kneading her breast gently before moving to the other side; he lifts his head and tastes the skin there. He places kisses along her cleavage and she arches into him, hands in his hair as he leaves a wet trail along her skin.

He pulls away and blows on her skin, bringing her breasts back to attention, the nerves back on edge. Then he looks up into her face, head tilted, leaning back on his hands. "You're beautiful, love."

"Touch me," she says, pulling at his shoulders and as he lays back down, his hands fall to the button on her jeans. Her hands meet his, seemingly frustrated with his pace and yank the zipper down, shifting her hips to slide the pants over her bottom and down her legs.

He spies black lace before he has to lie back and take a deep breath.

With a moan Tonks lowers her mouth against his, swallowing his growl as she twists them again, putting herself back underneath, moving her hips to find that friction.

Without hesitation he loses his jumper next, pulling it over his head and tossing it across the bed before leaning over her and kicking his pants down his legs. When he kisses her this time they're both naked and flushed.

His chest is a maze of scars, some so faint she only picks them up in the moonlight, others clawed into the skin, raised in a lattice work of cursed wounds.

Her fingers brush over them, tentatively at first, exploring and accepting and she feels his sigh.

She follows one of the longer scars across his chest and up over his shoulder, hand running up his neck to grasp at his hair. She pulls his face to hers in a bruising kiss to show him she's not afraid. These angry, scarred parts of him don't scare her.

"Are you sure?" he asks against her skin, his breath leaving hot circles of air all over her. She can feel him pressing hard against her thigh and she trembles at the thought of him inside her.

She cups his face and nods. "I am."

He nods before pressing his lips against her collar bone, beginning a trial of teasing kisses that end somewhere around her navel.

It's slow, not just because it's their first time, but because he wants it to be slow. He wants to map her out. Soak in everything there is about her. He's missed her so much. And the ache in his chest demands to be sated. With her scent, her sound, the feel of her skin beneath his weathered fingertips, the shape of her chest as her lungs fill.

He wants to learn her like a spell and read her like a book.

He wants to unravel her, understand her, pull her apart, infuse himself in every part of her, and then put her back together again, forever twining them together.

He wants to apologize recklessly. He wants to love her.

"Uh . . . _Remus_," she moans. "There . . . yes, right there." Her fingers tighten in his hair as his hand slips between their sweat slicked bodies, finding the tight bundle of nerves that beg for attention. He presses down with firm pressure against her panties and she bucks against him, her inner muscles contracting pleasantly and they both release a sigh that is equal parts pleasure and anticipation.

"_Mmm_," she says, her own hands moving to slide the fabric down her legs.

She's had enough of this teasing. She wants him now.

When she looks back at him her eyes are full of warmth and want, so much that he's almost made breathless by it.

She strokes her hand back through his hair and spreads her legs, guiding his hips between hers. It's all the permission her needs and bracing his hands on either side of her head, he nudges himself into her, the slick warmth almost overwhelming as her muscles contract around him.

When he's inside, fully envelope, he looks down at her eyes, dark and twinkling, vast like the sky and he wants to fall into her forever.

He rests for a moment, lets her adjust to the feel of them pressed together like this; he's just reminding himself to breathe.

When she arches beneath him, he knows she's ready and begins to move, just a slow twist of his hips at first, testing the waters, exploring the angles. When he shifts and she lets out a little gasp he knows he's found somewhere good and does it again.

The moan that falls from her mouth is so guttural, so real, that he almost comes on the spot.

She stirs beneath him, restless, vying for release and he speeds his movements, watching her come undone, pressure coiling, her restraint falling away with abandon.

Her movements have become jerky beneath him, her thighs molded to his hips.

She cries out as he pulls out and sinks back in with one fluid, angled push.

His fingers pinch the bundle of nerves between them again and she gasps with so much wanton need that he follows her as she bucks uncontrollably, the slap of skin the only sound other than their panting breaths.

As he spills inside her the warmth coiled in his gut spreads, infusing his limbs with a light-weighted giddiness that has him smiling boyishly, kissing her neck and stroking her hair as she comes down from the high she's been chasing.

Her eyelids flutter as she regains control and Remus thinks it's the most beautiful thing he's ever seen.

"I love you," he whispers into her hair and she wraps her arms around his waist as he rolls off her.

She ends up with her head pillowed on his chest. "I know."

"Are you still sure about forever?"

She smiles a contented little smile, looking up under waves of hair, the ring on her finger shimmering in the new moonlight. "Positive."

* * *

"Good morning, _Future Mrs. Lupin_." He buses her on the cheek as she rolls over, hair glued to her face. He chuckles and pushes it out of her eyes; it's longer than it was last night and bright, _bright_ pink. Like that last moment of daylight as the sun sets.

He twirls a piece for her to see.

She sits up, catching the sheets around her front with one hand and a piece of hair in the other. "Pink?" she says. _When had she done that?_

"Mad-Eye told me you were trying to lay low."

"I was," she says, focusing on the single group of hair and watching as it bleeds back to brown. Remus leans over and kisses her cheek, murmuring something that tickles and before she knows it the strands between her fingers are glowing pink again.

"Well that explains that," Remus says. "You're just too darn happy."

She turns to look at him, her cheeks sore from smiling. "I am."

He kisses her quick but it's enough to leave her lips buzzing. "I'm not sure I'm going to be able to morph it away if you keep doing that today."

"Would you rather I not kiss you?"

She bites her lips and falls back against the pillows, pink splayed around her head like a halo. "Dumbledore didn't mind the pink, did he?"

"I think he'd be very pleased to see you looking like your old self."

"Even at his funeral?"

Remus swallows thickly and strokes the side of her face. "Especially at his funeral."

He rolls away then and pads into the bathroom to comb through his hair and brush his teeth, while she wakes. She blinks dreamily at him, wondering where he got the toothbrush when she spies a tray from Aberforth on her dresser, her porridge still piping hot.

She smiles a little wondering if it was Aberforth who was nice enough to lend Remus the extra toothbrush. There was definitely two bowls of porridge on the tray, one already eaten, so he knew Remus was here. That thought made her blush.

With a groan she stretches out her sleepy limbs―they're achy in a pleasant way―and rolls off the bed, taking the tangle of sheets with her to retrieve the tray and her wand. She sits back on the bed in a mountain of feather-filled pillows and the comforter, still quite naked underneath.

That makes her blush too.

Remus stands in the bathroom at the sink and shaves, taking slow, careful strokes.

Tonks watches him from the bed while she eats. If someone had told her months ago that she'd be lying here, engaged to Remus Lupin, she never would have believed it―wanted it definitely―but never would have bet on it.

As if sensing her thoughts, he looks over, patting his face with a towel. He places it on the counter and smiles reassuringly, reminding her it's real.

She grins down at the ring on her finger, spinning it around with her thumb for good measure. She likes the weight, it feels right, but like this whole situation it's going to take some getting used to. Hell, her whole life has just changed again. It's all going to take some getting used to. But she's looking forward to figuring it out with Remus.

"You're turn," he says, vacating the bathroom. She sends the tray back over to the dresser with a well-placed hover charm.

"I'll be quick," she says, giggling when he presses her into the mattress to leave a trail of kisses down her neck. She slips out from under him while he's distracted by her tongue near his ear and disappears into the bathroom.

She closes the door gently and lets the water run in the shower for several minutes, warming the room with steam. She takes a moment―or several really―to just decompress. So much has happened in the last twenty-four hours. Some good. Some bad. Some really, _really_ good.

She takes her ring off before she gets in the shower. Knowing her she'll lose it down the drain in a fit of clumsiness.

She's quick about it, this washing thing, and even though she's not counting she knows it's been less than five minutes when she turns off the water and steps out onto the bathmat, doing that little drip dance people do before they wrap themselves in a towel.

She tucks it up under her arms, warm and white, and sets to work on her hair. A quick drying charm does the trick and then she's left with the ever-fun task of brushing out the tangles.

After a few minutes of fighting a pink nest of hair there's a knock on the door.

"Dora?" Remus says.

She pops it open and shivers as the cold air from the bedroom catches her arms. She holds the towel closer, preserving those last remnants of warmth.

She looks over and notices his blush as he leans against the door frame. The way he's looking at her makes her almost shy.

"It's only a towel, Remus. Besides," she laughs, "you've already seen me naked."

"I'd like to think I'm still a gentleman."

"Oh, you are."

He's dressed already. His slacks and shirt look pressed. He must have done some quick wand work on them, or else he's unearthed an iron somewhere in this room: neither option would surprise her.

"What time does the service start?" she asks.

"Mad-Eye just sent a Patronus, well, two actually―yours and mine―they both ended up here." Something about that makes him smile, but it's almost to himself, like it's meant to be a secret, so she just nods and continues fighting with the brush. "He said it starts within the hour. We should probably get going."

Tonks nods, putting the brush down and picking up her ring. She rolls it in her fingers as she drips onto the towel.

"Maybe we should wait," Remus says, closing Tonks' hand around the ring. "Until after today."

"Today is for Dumbledore," Tonks agrees. She places the ring on the counter with a sticking charm.

He takes her hand when she's dressed and brings it to his lips. He inhales as he kisses her knuckles.

He doesn't let her go for the duration of the funeral. Not when Harry looks over and catches his eye, not when Molly nudges Arthur indiscreetly, almost prodding down on his foot; not even when Mad-Eye and Kingsley stop to talk shop.

He doesn't let her go and her hair flows down to her shoulders in brilliant pink, cementing that promise of forever.


	24. Chapter 24

The funeral ends like all things do but over the next week the memory of Albus Dumbledore continues to live on in every gossip column the Prophet can conjure up; even in some lesser known papers that Tonks has never heard of including the Hippogriff Herald and the One-Stop Wizard's Press.

These articles make Remus snort and shake his head as they sit in her flat and sip their morning tea, quietly content to just be with each other.

Tonks blows across the rim of her mug, feeling the steam rise up and slip over her lips; the tea is steeped to perfection, as it well should be under Remus' practiced hand: his patience and diligence.

_She's missed this_, she thinks: this just sitting and being. There's an air of nostalgia about it, like something's missing and she knows exactly what it is: the witty remarks and flash of a fire whiskey bottle. Thinking of Sirius makes her heart clench, but sitting here and thinking about how many more mornings she'll get to wake to see Remus poring over the paper makes it clench for an entirely different reason.

The two feelings battle inside her, snake versus lion, and she swallows the flutter that's risen up in her throat. There's too much to comprehend, too much to try and set in order. She doesn't know how she's supposed to feel about all this and at the same time, she feels everything.

She regards Remus from across the kitchen table, his hair expectedly dishevelled after rolling out of bed, his eyes red rimmed after the late night stakeout for the Order. He had slipped into bed behind her sometime in the late evening, early morning crossover hour, his hand searching for its hold on her hip as he snuggled up against her back.

That she had liked. The lateness of his return however had made her nervous. There's a tentative air of uncertainty around everything now, which she suspects is just a product of the situation—war. Still, his firm presence in her bed filled that wide, gaping hole in her chest that she had been carrying around for the better part of a year. He made her stronger. He made her feel like they could fight this thing, however bleak the odds may be in the wake of Dumbledore's death.

Remus flips the paper over, abandoning an article on cauldron safety. The movement ruffles his hair enough for her to see his eyes: a swirly, cloudlike blue, glazed over with the fine black print reflected off the paper. She smiles to herself.

It was with great effort that she managed to drag herself out of bed this morning, wanting nothing more than to just lie in his embrace. It's become one of those things in this last week—the need to feel him close, feel his skin on hers. She doesn't know how she managed before, but the idea of going a night or even a morning without him by her side is simply unimaginable. It's become a selfish thing.

Sensing her stare, Remus looks up over the top of the paper, his lips curling at the corner, giving her that _you see something you like_ gaze.

Tonks lowers her eyes—hiding her smile—and places her mug down, watching the sugar dissolve at the bottom. It still amazes her to think that he's here with her. She still has to remind herself that it's real and she's not imagining it.

It was such a strange phenomenon to watch them put Dumbledore's body in the tomb and then to walk away from that, hand in hand with Remus. To have him follow her back to Aberforth's as she packed what few belonging remained there. To have him there to bounce ideas off as they figured out what to do next. The overwhelming sadness that consumed her after the service had been stamped down by a happiness unlike anything she'd ever felt as she slid that ring back on her finger: as Remus kissed her breathless on the top landing in the Hogshead while creatures and wizards packed in downstairs to drink to Dumbledore.

That first night after the funeral they had refused Molly's offer of a place to stay and returned to Tonks' flat―albeit cautiously since Greyback and the pack apparently knew where she lived―and placed a series of concealment charms on the place.

With Remus' help the flat was air tight in the magical sense and Tonks now doubted anyone but Voldemort himself could get inside, though the topic of finding a different place to live was still an active conversation, even if it meant going back to her parent's place for a while and Remus would do what he always did and find himself somewhere to stay. But she doesn't want that―in fact, she flat out refused to be separated from him again over something so trivial.

All she knows is she wants to keep waking up beside him.

_Your safety is not trivial_, he had told her emphatically, to which she had rolled her eyes and kissed him hard to stop the argument.

He'd finally relented and told her he'd figure something else out because they were, in fact, not staying here for long―it was best, really, to pick up and move before the Death Eater's had time to mobilize another strike.

Saying goodbye to her flat wouldn't be a big deal―she'd spent so little time here over the course of the last year. And though Aberforth had offered to let her keep staying in the room at the Hogshead, her presence there was also becoming apparent and Mad-Eye thought it was best for her to ask the department for a reassignment.

So as of two days ago, Tonks was back doing field work for the Auror's, taking her all over the country in pursuit of the Death Eater's that attacked Hogwarts. There were no substantial leads and even less news filtering through the Order. Everything had gone entirely too quiet.

Something was brewing. Had been brewing. They'd missed it the first time. Lost to a darkness that crept into the corners of Hogwarts and pulled it down from the top. They couldn't let that happen again.

Looking up, she finds herself under Remus' heavy scrutiny. He's even put his paper down. "You're thinking entirely too hard again."

"Maybe not hard enough," she says, leaning against the back of the chair, feeling the wooden rails dig into her spine.

"You know there's nothing you could have done. The Death Eater's orchestrated this attack from the inside. No one could have seen it coming."

"I know. I just always thought Hogwarts was the one place that would always be safe."

"It will be again."

"Not if we don't track down every last one of those―"

Remus reaches across the table and squeezes her hand. She lets the anger go as he twirls the engagement ring around her finger. "Let's talk about something else: something a little happier?"

His smile is so sincere, so glowing as he takes in the image of the ring on her finger that she melts a little and lets him interlace their fingers.

"We still need to set a date."

"The sooner the better," Tonks says. "Right now even. I have about two hours until my shift starts." She stands and walks around to his side of the table, settling herself on his lap.

Remus chuckles and squeezes her hips. "That doesn't leave you a lot of time to plan."

"I don't need a big thing. Just you and me is fine."

"Look, Dora, I know I can't give you a lot, but whatever you want for our wedding—"

She threads her fingers against his lips. "Seriously, Remus, I don't care about all that wedding stuff. I don't need that stuff. I just need you. Let's just elope."

He looks at her for a long moment, until she can see her reflection in his eyes. "We've already done this kind of backwards," he says slowly. "We can't just take off without at least telling your parents."

She leans back so he can see her clearly; so he can see how clearly she says, "We can."

He shifts his legs and she jostles, hands scrambling for his shoulders; he holds her so she doesn't tumble off the back of his knees. "We should at least tell them, Dora. Be reasonable."

"Oh, I will: when it's good and over."

"Do you not want them there?"

"I want it to be now. I don't want to wait. If I tell Mum she'll freak and want to plan. You know . . . a big white wedding with cake and candles and a long white dress."

"That doesn't sound so bad."

"A long white dress? For me?" Tonks groans, her eye roll almost painful. "Are you kidding, that sounds terrible."

"It's your day, love. You can wear whatever you like. Even your boots if you want."

She nods emphatically with his suggestion, like anything to the contrary was never even an option. "Oh, I plan on it."

Remus smiles, but his eyes betray the sigh that's gotten caught in his chest. "Dora, I will marry you however, wherever, whenever you want, but we have to tell your parents first. It's my only condition."

Tonks plays with the hair at the nape of his neck, her bottom lip drawn between her teeth. If it weren't for the crinkle of her brow Remus would have thought she was trying to tempt him. "Mum's not going to like it: us depriving her of all the stuff mother's do at weddings. She'll be livid."

"And what about your father?"

"I don't know. He might still just try to hex you for even asking me."

Remus tightens his hold as she shrugs and slips down his legs a bit. "Well, at least _that_ I can deal with. Your Mother on the other hand . . ."

"I know. Last thing they knew we were still . . . what's a good word? Broken up?"

He shakes his head. "It never really lasted."

"Well, whatever it was that we were doing, they have no idea that all this," she flashes her ring, "has happened. No one does really."

"Do you want the Order to know?" he asks her plainly, like he's inquiring what kind of jam she wants on her toast. He's trying not to overwhelm her, though the wandering look in her eyes might mean that there's still a bit too much running through her mind. He runs a hand up her arm, drawing her attention back to him. She smiles at his touch, squirming against his chest. "All of them? Molly and Arthur and Mad-Eye? Because if you do we can tell them; we can go tell them all tonight at the meeting."

Tonks leans her head against his shoulder, smiling into his jumper. She turns her head enough to say, "I kind of like that it's our secret for now."

"So we're not telling the Order yet?"

Her head lifts enough to inspect his face thoroughly. "You're being very meticulous about this."

"I just want to have it all straight in my mind."

She lets out a long, strangled breath. It's almost a laugh. "Okay, I'll make it easier for you. We'll tell my parents tonight before the meeting, seeing as that is your only condition; which I guess isn't _completely _terrible in the long scheme of conditions a groom could expect of his soon to be bride."

Remus squeezes her hips at the word _bride_. "And the Order?" he asks.

"You know Molly will do exactly the same think as my mother. So how about we keep them in the dark for a little while longer. She's got enough to worry about planning Bill and Fleur's wedding and I've got enough to worry about with one stubborn, pure-blood mother to contend with."

He rubs slow circles into her thighs. "There's also the werewolf thing to consider. I didn't want to bring it up because I know you're going to say you don't care, but linking yourself to me in the eyes of the Ministry may cause problems for you at—wait Nymphadora, let me finish. With werewolves losing their rights left and right, I'm not sure how our getting married would affect your job. Now we could wait, see how things go, or we could―"

"I don't want to wait."

He chuckles at her impatience. "What do you want then?"

"Let's do it the Muggle way. Get our little piece of paper, exchange some rings, and call it done. Simple. Quiet. No one needs to know anything."

"So in other words the Ministry can shove it?"

"Hmm," Tonks grins. "That sounds like something Sirius would have said."

"It does, doesn't it?" Remus trails off with a thoughtful hum. After a moment, "I think he'd be really happy, you know. One of the last things he told me was to just be happy and to love you."

She runs her fingers across his stubble-lined cheek. "Well then Sirius and my parents are the only ones who need to know right now."

"He would have been my best man," Remus says a little wistfully.

Tonks give him a toothy grin. "That's funny. I would have asked him to be my maid of honour."

When their laughter subsides, he tilts his head, brushes her hair away from her face and asks, "Now how about breakfast? What would you like?"

She kisses the edge of his jaw. "Just you, please."

"Ah, Dora, as wonderful as that sounds, and it does sound wonderful, I think I should at least feed you before I ravage you. Wouldn't want you going to work on an empty stomach."

"Well, if I must," she says, her lips by his ear. "Eggs sound good."

Remus swallows the boulder in his throat. It lands in his gut and sends his nerves firing, his voice coming out raspier than he intends. "You don't have any eggs. We haven't gone shopping yet."

Tonks slips off his lap with a sly smirk and tugs on his arm. "Too bad, guess we'll have to find something else to occupy our time then."

"You sneaky minx," he laughs, but follows her into the bedroom anyway—how could he really resist?—making a mental note to go shopping while she's at work.

* * *

By the time Tonks returns from work Remus has spent a full day doing all the menial tasks that had been neglected in the wake of a year spent apart and Dumbledore's death, including the shopping, some minor cleaning—he spends a good amount of time folding the blanket on the couch that came from Grimmauld place—and organizing.

There's Order stuff spread from one end of the flat to the other, books on Dark Arts, piles of laundry—he's gotten very familiar with her clothing over the last week, both off and on her body—and an assortment of Bertie Botts Every Flavoured Beans in random dishes.

Tonks arrives home to the sound of the wireless buzzing and uses the noise as a cover to sneak up on Remus. He must still be able to hear her over the music, though,—stupid werewolf senses—because he turns at the last second and wrestles her to the bed while she squeals with laughter.

"Hi," he says, pressing his lips to hers.

"Wotcher."

"Good day?"

"It wasn't . . . terrible. It's getting better now though." She kisses along his jaw, her hands snaking down his chest, fingering his belt. "I missed you."

Remus inhales, his stomach muscles contracting sharply as her hands explore. He uses one of his own to catch them and pull them above her head. "I can tell. But we did promise to go see your parents and if we're going to make it before the meeting we have to leave soon." He presses a kiss to her cheek. "Very soon."

"Fine. I just have to shower," she says. She sighs. "Then we can go."

She squirms beneath him and he rolls to the side to let her off the bed but before she goes she rolls into him, arching and rubbing along the length of his body like a cat.

He drops his head against the pillow and groans. Merlin he's missed her, too. He misses her when she's right next him. After being apart for so long he feels like he'll never have enough of her. She snickers at him as she crawls off the bed and skips to the bathroom, shooting him a sultry wink before closing the door.

Remus has to think really hard about Quidditch scores to stop himself following after her. It doesn't work, so he removes himself from the room and continues sorting through the mess of belongings that have accumulated in the kitchen.

He knows Tonks is done when a fresh wave of apple blossoms fill the room. He turns to find her leaning against the wall in the hallway. She seems to have been watching him, but not really watching, just kind of staring past him, almost like she's troubled.

He replaces the Death Eater file he'd been sorting on the table and crosses the room.

She looks up at him, startled by his closeness as he touches her arm.

"Are you alright, love? You're so pale?"

"Fine," she squeaks and Remus grabs her by the shoulders, halting her escape across the living room.

"Dora, what is it?"

"Nothing, I just want to get tonight over with."

"Surely I'm supposed to be the one terrified that your parents are going to disapprove. I mean, I am the werewolf after all."

"Oh, Remus," she says, seeing the concern in his eyes. "That won't matter to them. All they'll care about is that you're a good man. And that I love you. They've known about us to some degree and they haven't once mentioned you being a werewolf as an obstacle."

His eyebrow lifts. "Maybe they're just used to you flirting with the dark and dangerous, being an Auror and all."

"They just know better than to tell me who to love. It's not that anyway. I'm just stressed out."

"It comes with the territory, I guess. Weddings and stuff."

"That's exactly it," Tonks says, fingers grasping at his jumper with a little more urgency than necessary. "I didn't want that. That stress. Mum'll try to make it stressful, not on purpose, but she's got this vision of me in her head, you know, a dressed up little girl to go with the dressed up little name, and if it isn't obvious yet, that's not exactly how I turned out."

"I for one particularly like how you turned out," Remus says, ducking his head and nibbling on her neck.

Tonks swoons a bit, grasping at his shoulders for support.

"Well, Mum's still holding out hope that I'll suddenly turn into girly, prissy Nymphadora. Announcing our engagement will just give her more ammunition."

"Then I'll just have to whisk you away, after we've told them and made a good impression of course."

"I'm holding you to that," Tonks says with a smirk. "I mean it, Remus. I don't want any big thing. I just want to be married."

"If you're sure," he says, looking suddenly serious, "that I'm all you need. And you'll be happy with a piece of paper that says you belong to me, then we'll do it tomorrow."

"Tomorrow, really?"

"You have the day off and I know this quaint little chapel in Ireland. The Minister's an old friend of the family. Small. Quiet. Just like you wanted."

Tonks pulls her lip between her teeth, fighting off a brilliant smile. _Mrs. Lupin_. Her knees are suddenly weak, like they're made of pudding. "And you're okay if I wear my boots?"

Remus chuckles, pressing a kiss to the corner of her mouth. "It'll be perfect."

* * *

They arrive at her parent's place at half past seven. The Order meeting starts at eight. They're cutting it really close and Tonks would be lying to say she hadn't planned it that way.

She steps out of the fire first, inhaling the warm smell of molasses and her dad's tobacco.

Her mother waits in the doorway to the kitchen, outlined in a yellow sun dress, setting off her dark features and prominent bone structure. "Nymphadora, what is that on your finger?" She stalks over to investigate.

Tonks swallows the aggravated sigh. "Wotcher, Mum."

Remus steps out of the fireplace behind her and dusts off his jacket. He nods. "Good evening, Mrs. Tonks."

"Oh, for goodness sakes, call me Andromeda, Remus. I'm not ancient." She grabs Tonks' hand and inspects the ring critically, a small, almost non-existent smile curling the edge of her mouth. "I suppose this is your doing then?" she says, pointing to the ring.

Remus nods.

"Very well, have you chosen a date? Summer is nice for an outdoor event, though I did prefer the fall myself. There's so much more flexibility with dress styles when you don't have to worry about sweating it off."

Tonks takes her hand back gingerly and uses it to grab onto Remus' arm, tucking herself into his side, for support, for stability, gathering up her resolve. "Well, see Mum, here's the thing . . ."

The last thing Tonks hears before she has to plug her ears is her mother wailing for her father. Apparently telling her parents that she was getting married wouldn't be the hard part after all. Telling them that she was eloping on the other hand . . . well, that was an entirely different story: one that was going to require a strong drink and perhaps a discreetly cast confundus charm.

* * *

They sit around the kitchen table, just the four of them—her, Remus, her Mum, looking slightly miffed, and her Dad, clutching his coffee mug for support. He hasn't stopped floundering for words since they sat down and Tonks thinks she can feel a headache coming on.

"But is this what you really want, Dora?"

"Oh, of course it is Ted, look at her." Her Mum crosses her arms, eyes narrowed on the kitchen sink before snapping back to catch Tonks, and sighs. "I just can't believe my only daughter isn't going to let her mother plan her wedding. This is some kind of cruel and unusual punishment, Nymphadora."

"Mum, we can't have a big, flashy wedding right now with everything that's going on. You know that. Auntie Bellatrix would have a field day."

Andromeda makes a vague motion with her hand that Remus thinks might resemble a decapitation. He's never seen the harsh resemblance of Bellatrix in Dora, but her mother is another creature altogether. The lines of her face are harsh and cruel, only softened by the smile that twists her cheeks at the sight of her husband and daughter. Her eyes hide the same dark power as her sister, though where Bellatrix is black, Andromeda is dark brown. The difference is slight, but just enough to set them apart.

Just enough.

"Then why rush?" Andromeda quips. "You're both young. You can wait."

"You didn't wait, Mum. With everything going on, with everything working against you and dad, you said screw it. And you did it anyway."

Her Mum rolls her eyes, sobering at the comment. "Very well, Nymphadora, if it's our blessing you want you have it, but I'm not going to pretend I'm not upset over this. So when this wretched war is over and the Ministry is tossed back into place we're going to have a long chat and plan you a big wedding like I wanted you to have, and you can renew your vows so I can get some pictures. Merlin, I can't believe you're doing this to me."

"Aw, Mum. Pictures, really?"

"No buts Nymphadora. You're just going to have to suffer through it for my sake. It's not every day your daughter gets married."

Tonks blows a lank of hair out of her face and grits her teeth. "Alright, fine."

Ted stands then and offers Remus his hand. "Welcome to the family, Remus. Can't say I'm surprised really. Dora's never been one for big, flashy events."

Tonks pats Remus on the chest. "He knows that, Dad."

"Come and have a drink. I think I have some of Ogden's Best Firewhiskey put away from the year Dromeda and I were married."

"Dad, we have to go. Order business."

"You know, if Bill did this to Molly she'd have a fit," Andromeda says abruptly, hands clasped beneath her chin. She doesn't stand, merely continues to sulk.

"I know, Mum, which is why I'm glad you're not Molly. We really do have to go, though." Tonks presses a quick kiss to her cheek before grabbing Remus' hand and dragging him towards the fireplace.

"You will come back for tea this week, won't you?" Ted calls after them, fumbling in the cupboard for glasses in an attempt to get them to stay.

"Of course they're coming, Ted," Andromeda says. "Wednesday, seven o'clock. I'll make tarts."

Remus goes to open his mouth to thank her but Tonks just shakes her head quickly, throws a handful of Floo powder inside the fireplace, and drags him inside by his sleeve.

They stumble out onto the carpet inside her flat. Tonks dashes around the kitchen table, scooping up files.

"That wasn't so bad," Remus says, though his heart is racing a mile a minute.

Tonks' face screws up, her eyes wild and scattered looking as she pulls pieces of parchment from under sofa cushions and stuffs them into files. "Oh, Mum's not done with us yet. Just wait, I'll probably get a Howler while we're at the meeting."

For once, Remus can't tell if she's joking. He holds his hands out and she deposits a stack of manila envelopes into his arms.

They just manage to make the Order meeting, letting out mingled breaths of relief as they plop into chairs next to Arthur.

It's so scattered and disorganized and somewhat sombre after losing Dumbledore that Tonks has no trouble hiding her hand below the table, concealing the engagement ring from sight.

Some happy news might be what they all need right now. But the timing just doesn't feel exactly right. Almost like she's intruding on something and she knows Molly wants nothing more than a task to throw herself into right now.

She'll be on the same bandwagon with her mother in a matter of seconds, so for her sanity and Remus', Tonks keeps the wedding a secret.

It's just one more night after all. Tomorrow she'll be Mrs. Lupin and she'll deal with Molly and the rest of the Order at the next meeting.

With thoughts of becoming _Mrs. Lupin_ swirling around her head, Tonks relaxes, anxiously awaiting tomorrow. Remus must feel the same way because he squeezes her hand below the table, playing with the ring on her finger until the meeting finishes sometime in the early hours of the morning.

* * *

For a brief moment she's blinded by pure sunlight. Then Remus moves his head to kiss her and she can see the brilliant smile on his face.

"Sometimes I think Muggles have it right," Tonks says, smiling up at him, their marriage certificate rolled between her hands.

They had come to the little chapel in Ireland just like Remus had said. It's where his parents had been married, his Mum being a Muggle and all. Tonks felt that there was something incredibly intimate about being part of a tradition, especially one so personal to him, and when she'd finally seen the chapel, her heart thumped in offbeat rhythms because it was nothing like she had expected, but infinitely better.

The little brick building was set against a green back drop of shamrocks and shrubs, so fresh and vibrant and full of life—probably several colonies of gnomes as well. Sprigs of ivy crawled the walls and draped over the windows and the eaves. When the afternoon sun had filtered in through the glass everything inside the chapel was painted a rich, promising green. It was quaint. It was peaceful. It had been perfect.

"One day we'll do this properly," Remus says, turning her into his arms. He places another kiss against her forehead as they wander down the trail, away from town, searching for a vacant spot to Apparate. "Just like your mother wants."

"One day? My, Mr. Lupin, I've never heard you speak so candidly of the future."

"I suppose you're starting to rub off on me some."

"Only some?"

He snuggles into her side, nibbling the skin on her shoulder and she laughs. "I think this is as good a place as any," he concedes, turning and staring in all directions.

Grabbing her to his side they disappear with a _pop_ and land back in her flat. When her legs have solidified, Tonks is still feeling decidedly tipsy and it has nothing to do with Apparating.

Following her gut, as well as the nerves misfiring in her brain, she stumbles her way towards the bedroom, attaching her lips to Remus' along the way, hooking her leg around his waist, making it almost impossible for him to walk.

They both tumble to the bed in a flurry of threaded limbs.

Her movements are impatient, fueled by desire and lust and _Merlin will you take your pants off already, Remus!_

She kicks at them down his legs, lips sealed around the pulse on his neck, breaking her hold only long enough to pull her jumper over her head.

"_Tonks?_"

She freezes; Remus' hand slips back above the waistband of her pants as he peers through the crack in the door towards the living room.

"_Tonks are you home?_"

Tonks groans and sits up, straddling Remus' thighs.

He holds her there as she pulls her jumper back on, hoping she doesn't look too rumpled. "Stay," she whispers since he's wearing a bright red hickey on his neck and not much else. She pushes of his chest and tries her best not to curse as she gets tangled up in his pants on her way out the door. She casts a hard look over her shoulder, almost daring him to say something about her clumsiness, but he wisely purses his lips and stares at the ceiling.

When she comes around the corner and sees Molly's head in the fire she gives her hair a gentle shake and tucks her hand against her chest, concealing the rings—a bright gold now accompanying the silver. "Wotcher, Molly?"

"Sorry, dear. I didn't mean to intrude. I've been popping in and out all afternoon but I must have kept missing you."

"That's okay." _Actually it isn't_, but Tonks isn't going to tell her why, so she just smiles instead. "What's up?"

"Arthur said he needed you to get this to Mad-Eye right away." Molly hands her a folded piece of parchment. It glows bright orange, lit by flame, until Tonks removes it from the fire. "He's asked that it not be sent through owl post."

"Right." She skims the note. It looks like coordinates. "I'll be seeing him later today, so I'll give it to him then."

"Wonderful." Molly lingers another second. "Are you alright, dear?"

"Fine," Tonks says, mustering another smile. "Why?"

"No reason. Are you seeing Remus tonight?"

Tonks can't help the smile that tugs her lips this time. "I expect so. Yes." _I did just marry the man. _Her stomach gives a funny sort of lurch that makes her dizzy and she holds her knees to stop herself from tipping into the fire.

Molly gives her a knowing, motherly grin that is every part approval and _I'm really happy for you_ rolled into one. "Well give him my best. The two of you should stop by for dinner soon: _before_ the next meeting."

"We'll make a point of it," Tonks says, adding that to her mental list along with going to her parent's place for tea. It's all overshadowed by the thoughts of a very naked Remus in her bed—_their bed?_

"Good. Good. Enjoy your day, dear. Stay safe."

"Always, Molly. See you."

Tonks waits a moment to make sure she's really gone before slipping back into the bedroom, casting a wary glance over her shoulder at the fireplace. She shuts the door for good measure, thankful that it wasn't Mad-Eye whose head appeared in the fire with his rolling, tumbling, all-seeing eye.

"Well that was quite the show."

"What, me almost breaking my neck on your jeans or me talking to Molly without blushing like a fool?"

"Do you think she knew?" Remus asks as Tonks crawls back up beside him.

"That we'd just secretly gotten married? No. That I was in here trying to take your clothes off? Most definitely yes."

Remus gives her a look but she returns it just as hard. "They have seven kids, Remus, and I don't think it was divine intervention."

He snorts and falls back against the pillow, pulling her down with him. "Let's go somewhere," he says.

"Where?"

"Get away from here for a couple days."

"Are you proposing what I think you are, Mr. Lupin?"

"A honeymoon on which I can ravish you without having to worry about the Order dropping by?" He can feel her laugh in the hollow of his chest.

Tonks traces patterns against his neck with her tongue, then looks up at him. "I was going to say a vacation but yours sounds much more romantic."

"Oh, it will be."

"So, this is something you've been thinking about, Mr. Lupin?"

"Thinking about . . . planning. I know we weren't much for convention with the actual wedding, but I think a honeymoon is something not to be missed. It's another one of my conditions."

"I don't think you can tag on conditions after the fact. That's not how it works." She flips her leg over his waist and settles on his lap, arms perched against his shoulder so she can lean down and kiss him.

"But you see, there was a clause in the conditional contract."

"Oh, really?" She nips at his bottom lip and he makes a familiar hissing noise. It feeds warmth into her center.

"Most definitely. Right after the not telling the Order thing. Said groom possesses the power to take said bride away for an undetermined duration to celebrate the small, quiet, no-nonsense, no stress, low-key wedding."

"I don't think I read that far into the contract. What else is going to creep up on me, I wonder?"

"Nothing too alarming. But you really should contact work and ask for some time off." He reaches up and tangles both hands in her hair. "A week should do it."

* * *

Getting the time off isn't as difficult as Tonks expects. She hasn't taken a proper vacation in Merlin knows how long and there's a surplus of people running around the Auror department and a million other things for the director to be worried about, so he approves Tonks' five day vacation request in less than five minutes when she owls him about it.

The real problem is making arrangements with the Order. In Dumbledore's absence Mad-Eye has taken over so Tonks and Remus both send him a Patronus letting him know they'll be away for a few days and that if anyone needs them to send word.

He doesn't question anything about them both being gone at exactly the same time, just responds with the expected, "Constant vigilance," as his warthog disappears.

"So where are we going?" Tonks asks as Remus picks her travel bag up off the bed. He's packed her—except for the few articles of clothing she's managed to slip in as a surprise for him—so she has no idea of the destination.

"It's a surprise." He holds out his hand to her. "Are you ready?"

She takes it, folding their fingers together, band beside band. _Yes,_ she thinks and she nods. She's ready to go wherever life with Remus takes her.


	25. Chapter 25

**A/N:** **Short and sweet fluffy little smutfest (it is their honeymoon after all). If that's not your thing skip this chapter. You're not missing much except the conception of a tiny, nine-month in the making plot point ;P**

* * *

She closes her eyes as they Apparate. It's the one thing Remus requested of her and he's so excited that she'd obeyed and held tightly to his shoulders as he turned them on the spot, the crushing weight of Apparition decidedly different—almost pleasantly so—when she's crushed in his arms and not by the manipulation of time and space.

This marriage thing . . . she doesn't think she'll ever get used to the way it makes her feel inside. Like a nerve. Like jelly. Like every part of her buzzes with anticipation. It's terrifying and thrilling and most of the time she has to physically remind herself to breathe so she doesn't pass out.

They land as suddenly as they left and she wobbles a little, ankles adjusting on the uneven ground that slips beneath her feet. She waits for the jelly feeling in her legs to fade and takes a long, steadying breath.

Salt and sea and the calm rush of water on sand.

It invades her senses like the first breath of air after a dive, hard, fast, and completely freeing. Awakening. Life giving.

She fights the urge to blink, to open her eyes and take in the sight that has overwhelmed every other sense. She can feel the heat of the sun on her face. It lights her eyelids red.

Remus' hand on her skin is warm as it trails under her jaw and around her cheek. His lips brush hers, soft, pliant, inviting. Everything is different with her eyes closed. Heightened. She wants to fall into his embrace, let his hands roam and make her feel all the glorious things he's capable of making her feel, but he pulls away with a swipe of his tongue along her lower lip.

It's a chaste kiss by most of their standards, but promising, hopefully of things to come.

"Open your eyes, darling," he says, hands still cupped around her face.

The first thing she sees is him, his smile brilliant and crooked and maybe, _maybe_ just a tiny bit unsure.

This makes her curious and she looks around.

A white iron gate creaks in the breeze. It's knee high and extends in an intricate wrought iron fence around what seems to be a substantial property line.

On the coast.

The beach is vast and white as she peers over the edge of a gently descending cliff.

It's sand mostly, not the jagged rock kind she's used to exploring for work.

The water is far enough to not be a threat, ever, but close enough she can feel the breeze and energy of the ocean, smell the brine and salt and earthy mixture of kelp and tide.

After absorbing the breathtaking quality of the view Tonks decides it's almost picturesque: the kind of thing she's seen on those little Muggle postcards.

When she's had her fill of the blue, _blue _ocean, Remus turns her slowly and what she comes upon next isn't as much breathtaking as it is quaint. A cottage nestled into the hillside, shingles curled like the tide, the siding a pale, faded yellow, in need of a good sanding and paint.

There are curtains drawn back at the window, low lights glowing inside.

The front door is a dark maroon colour, surrounded by thick walls of ivy on either side that have climbed up and over the roof in pursuit of sun.

"Remus, what is this place?"

He just smiles in a reminiscing sort of way as he watches her gaze explore. "Somewhere we won't be interrupted, I hope."

Tonks looks up at him, hand on his chest, fingers scratching lightly at his skin through his shirt. It isn't quite uncertainty that furrows her brow, but Remus can tell she's wary of this place, new and cast-off in some private part of nowhere. But this is exactly where he wants to be right now, where he wants to be with her.

"I've come here before," he explains, letting his arm fall around her shoulders, pulling her tight to his side, "at the full moon, when I've needed a place to go. I've been slowly adding charms, in case the Order ever needed a safe house."

"You know, when you left all those times during the moon I kind of imagined you spending the night in some mangled old forest, not something this . . ."

"Normal?" he offers.

"Domestic."

"That's me," he teases, "your average, domesticated werewolf."

"So you just curl up inside and wait for morning?"

"Yes, when I've taken the Wolfsbane. If I haven't there tends to be a lot of broken furniture in the morning. The wolf's rather restless without the potion."

"I can imagine," she says, for a second flashing back to that night in the cellar when she didn't know if the potion she concocted would kill Remus, or herself.

"But this place is out of the way. It's unplottable. There are Anti-muggle charms keeping away the pesky neighbours." He inhales deeply. "And great for the sinuses."

Tonks chuckles, tucking her head back against his chest as they sway in the yard. "It's perfect," she agrees, squeezing his hand.

"Do you want to go inside?"

She leans up on her toes and kisses him. "I don't know, will it be worth my while?"

Remus' eyes widen, darken, as his lips pull into a thin, teasing smile. "Oh, I'll make sure of it."

* * *

Somewhere between the front door and the kitchen they end up horizontal on a bed, clothes disappearing like magic (maybe some of it is on Remus' part; he's very good at wandless magic), lips and skin fused together like someone's cast a sticking charm between them.

"This is lovely," Remus says, fingering the little black lace number she'd been wearing beneath her clothes. He obviously hadn't been the only one who intended to start the honeymoon off with a bang (pun intended). "Though I don't remember having seen this before."

"It's new," she husks into his ear, lips hot against his neck.

"When did you have time to shop?"

"I'm very good at multitasking."

"Tell me you weren't lingerie shopping while on duty? Or better yet, tell me you were. That's a mental image I'll keep in mind every time you leave for work." He reaches beneath some of the lace, running his hands up her side, massaging the skin beneath his palms with slow, sensual circles.

She moans, fingers threading into the hair at the base of his neck. "A good witch never reveals her secrets."

"What about a good wife?"

She smiles at that. The kind of smile that paints her cheeks and neck pink with emotion. He peppers her face with tiny kisses, letting his nose skim up and down her neck. He'll never tire of this, the feel of her beneath his fingers. He'll also never tire of reminding her she belongs to him now. That they belong to each other.

She hikes her legs a little higher along his hips, rolling just enough to make him groan.

"Do you like it?"

"Truthfully I expected something a little more . . . pink?"

"Is the hair not enough?"

He kisses the bottom of her jaw, hands cupping the undersides of her breasts, clothed in intricate lace cups that he really doesn't want to destroy, but he's not sure he has the patience to take it off her properly. "I just know how fond you are of the colour."

"I can change if you want. I must have brought something you'll like," she teases. She rolls her hips again, harder, slower.

"No . . . ah, this is good." He swallows hard, his tongue darting out to moisten his lips. "I like the black. _Really_ like it."

"I know you do. That's why I bought it." She helps lead his hand to the series of clasps at the bottom of her spine and laughs at his eagerness to undo them.

"Next time you do this kind of shopping, I want to come."

"How is that a surprise then?"

"Surprises are overrated." He surges forward and catches her face between his hands, lips melding against hers again.

She straddles his waist, pressing against his length.

"Dora . . . hmm . . ."

She tugs at his belt. "I don't need slow, Remus." His hands become more frantic against the black fabric and she catches them for just a second. "Just don't rip it. I like this one, too."

When he's divested her of the scanty lace and tossed it gently over the chair in the corner of the room, she lifts her hips enough for him to shimmy out of his pants.

"We're getting rather good at this," she notes, helping him kick the pants away with her feet.

"Must be all the practice," he says, voice strained.

"Well, you know, practice makes perfect and all that." She pulls her hips up, feeling the length of him line up against her center. She slides down, hissing her pleasure, a sound swallowed and repeated by Remus, and without preamble she begins to move.

It's faster than either of them was expecting, but she had told him she didn't need slow tonight. She didn't want it. With all the build-up and excitement after the wedding and the whirlwind surprise honeymoon, Tonks had wanted nothing more than to get Remus naked, and now that she had, she wasn't going to waste time.

Her arms shake against his chest. His hands find purchase against her hips, crashing them together. She finishes meeting each of his thrusts with this tiny roll and flick of her hips that has his hips canting wildly, uncontrollably.

Finally her fingers stiffen against his chest and he stills, her walls clenching with enough force to set him off. She collapses against his chest and he hugs her to him and the waves of pleasure course through them both.

He pulls out of her after a time and he feels her moan more than he hears it. The twist and roll of her hips tell him she's ready again, still tense and fired up and coiled for him.

He squeezes his hand down between their bodies and when his fingers dip against the throbbing bundle of nerves she gives a gasp, jolting up his body a bit, still sensitive, but receptive to his touch.

He takes it slow, this game of teasing touches, until she's straddling his waist, searching for friction against his hand.

It's a glorifying feeling, having her seek pleasure from his hand, knowing only he can make her feel this way. Her fingers wrap around his upper arms as she drives her hips down against his hand, undulating, soft moans and gasps of pleasure slipping between her lips.

"R—Remus," she groans, sucking in air as she bucks down hard.

He curls his fingers just right and the pressure and the angle are enough. She cries out, something that might have been his name, or just a series of swears—she's quite the curser in bed—and shudders hard, her entire body racked with tense tremors as she falls against his chest.

"Hi," he whispers after a long moment, pushing back her hair. They're both sweaty and slick.

"Wotcher."

"So what d'you think of the place?"

"The bedroom is great."

He laughs, low and throaty, and presses his lips against her hairline. "Let's try out the bathroom next. There's a claw foot tub I think you'll enjoy."

She makes a low sound in the back of her throat, something that sounds like approval before she rolls away from him, shimmying into some clothes. A smile tugs the corner of his mouth up as she pads across the room in a pair of knickers and his shirt. He doesn't think he's ever seen anything sexier in his life. She throws him a mischievous little wink over her shoulder and a second later he hears the bath running. He gives her a two minute head start before he joins her.

* * *

They sleep until noon the next day, the dark curtains leaving them to bask in their dreams as the sun spills into every other room in the house.

After their bath last night Remus had shown her the rest of the rooms. The cottage was larger than it first appeared, three bedrooms on the top floor—though the master was quickly becoming her favourite because of the adjoining bathroom—and a kitchen, den, and outdoor patio that overlooked the water on the lower level. For the most part the furniture was sparse and old. There were a lot of little things that needed repair, but the charm of the place was undeniable and the break from normal life was so welcomed she'd gladly sleep in a gnome hole if it meant five uninterrupted days with Remus.

When Tonks wakes finally, cocooned in a lavender quilt and Remus' arms, she's feeling much too delighted to actually get out of bed; like she's floating. If this is what death feels like she'd gladly accept, so long as she gets to spend it with Remus.

"Morning," he whispers, the sound tickling the back of her neck.

She snuggles further into the pillows, attempting to drown in the downy fluff. The furniture might have been old but the pillows were top of the line; she decides that if most of their honeymoon was going to be spent in this bed—and she hoped it was—that the pillows were coming home with her when they were all said and done.

She hums in response, patting his hand as it curls around her stomach.

"I wondered if you'd be getting up at all today."

"Well," she yawns, stretching like a cat, his fingers ghosting over her ribs. She rolls towards him and his arms tighten around her. "We did have quite an eventful night."

"We did."

"Does it continue into today? Or did you have other things on the agenda?"

"I think we should go into town. You'll love it."

"More than I love it here? In bed?"

"Well . . ." he kisses her forehead, "I do have to feed you sometime. I don't want you to burn out after all our _activities_."

Tonks nudges his arm, pulling a bundle of sheets with her, and laughs. "My stamina is fine. In fact it's great. Maybe for a few hours more." She reaches to catch his lips with hers, pulling his face down. Her stomach growls at the thought of food though.

He laughs. "Liar. We missed dinner last night and breakfast this morning."

"I really wanted to try out that tub last night."

"That was an adventure."

"One that I'd be partial to enjoying again." Her stomach grumbles again and he cocks an eyebrow at her. "Okay, fine," she concedes, sitting up. "We'll eat really, _really_ fast."

She scoots off the bed, releasing a rather un-Tonks-like squeal when Remus smacks her ass, racing her to the bathroom. She returns the favour while he's unaware and brushing his teeth. It turns into a sort of naked wrestling match on the bed which leads to other things and then they opt just to start the morning—noon?—off with a shower.

They take turns soaping each other up and fighting over the hot water. There's far too much giggling involved for this time of the day and Tonks wonders if being married has made her soft. She's supposed to be an Auror. Wizard's are meant to cower in her presence. But right now she's squealing as Remus runs the loofa over her sides, pressing soft kisses into her hair.

When the water finally gives out they emerge from the bathroom in a cloud of steam. Somehow they manage to get dressed without undressing each other again, Remus looking particularly relaxed in his shorts and shirt and Tonks feeling altogether feminine in the short sundress.

"Will we blend in?"

"You could never," he says, though his tone and gaze are admiring.

She wraps an errant, pink curl around her finger. "Shall I morph to something more nondescript?'

"Never." He doesn't think they have to worry about Death Eater's recognizing them here. He hopes they don't. So he takes her hand and leads her outside. To her intense pleasure he doesn't take her to a spot to Apparate but threads their fingers together and starts them on a smooth, but overgrown walking trail along the beach.

Ten minutes later she smells frying fish and sugar coated something that has her mouth watering.

It's a whimsical little Muggle resort town that they come upon with shops and stalls that sell antiques and good, _good_ food. Gosh, she's going to gain twenty pounds on this honeymoon.

They stop at a stall that's popped up for the summer rush and Remus buys her something that overflows on the card board plate in a greasy, delicious mess.

He leads her to a picnic table where a family has just cleared out and pushes the plate towards her.

"Remus, I can't eat all that."

"Then we'll share."

He raises his eyebrow and the plastic fork transfigures into two.

She smiles at his secret little use of magic. They could have easily shared the fork, but she thinks he knows how much his wandless magic fascinates her.

She takes one of the offered forks and digs in, moaning as the first bite slides down her throat, settling into her waiting stomach.

"Good?"

"Merlin, yes." She takes another bite before shoving the plate towards him. "Eat. You'll have to keep up your stamina if you plan to keep up with me for the rest of this trip." The subtle smile she gives him around her fork as she drags it out of her mouth and over her lips has him shifting in his seat. It's dark and sultry and he wonders if anyone would notice if he launched across the table and Apparated them both back to the cottage. If he was quick about it the Muggles would pass it off as a crack of lightning sounding over the ocean.

He settles instead for leaning across the table and kissing her breathless, his fingers holding her chin.

When he pulls away her cheeks are flushed the same colour as her hair. He loves that he can do that to her. He also loves the fact that she struggles to morph the blush away as he watches her.

"You do that on purpose," she accuses, though she sounds more breathless than mad.

"You drive me crazy."

Her foot finds his leg beneath the table and she slips out of her sandal to run bare skin over bare skin.

He swallows, watching her eyes darken. "Now who's doing it on purpose?"

"All's fair in love and war." She tips her head and the breeze drags her hair over her shoulder. She slips the strap of her dress back up as it slides down her skin.

She doesn't know it, but she's the most breathtaking thing out here.

"I love you," he blurts out and for a moment she looks surprised.

Maybe he hasn't said it enough. He knows he's shown her. He knows she feels it. But it's that initial look of shock before the elation sets in that makes him promise to tell her every single day.

"I love you, too," she echoes.

There are old retiree couples milling about the town, giving them the nostalgic kind of once over as they pass. Remus secretly hopes that'll be them someday, hands entwined, Tonks still looking at him with that glowing smile of hers.

After they finish eating they wander the town, spending little bits of Muggle money on souvenirs. They're both surprisingly good with Muggle money—Remus from his days as a poverty enforced werewolf and Tonks because her dad was a Muggle-born—making passing for non-wizards that much easier.

The locals wish them luck in their marriage, it's obvious that they're on their honeymoon from the way they're staring at each other, all wide eyes and sighs, and the way they can't keep their hands off each other.

Remus has taken to running his fingers under Tonks' hair, over her exposed shoulders, loving the way she snuggles into his side at they walk. Sirius would probably laugh at him if he saw how love-struck his cousin has made him. He'd be ecstatic in secret, but the teasing would have been relentless.

They pass a rickety looking shack with fairy lights strung along the roof and dangling over the edges. A pack of children race around the building and back to the beach, carrying an array of goodies that end up more in the sand than in their mouths.

"Let's get ice cream," Tonks says, catching his hand on her shoulder and tugging him towards the building.

"I couldn't eat another bite," Remus laughs, following her willingly. "How can you possibly be hungry?"

"It's just ice cream," she says in a tone that suggests ice cream and food fall into very different categories and therefore they should have plenty of room to indulge. It makes little sense to him but she's smiling in that glowing way that makes his heart skip into his throat so he pays the man. He'd buy the entire shack for her if she wanted him to—he do anything for her when she looks at him like that—though he thinks she deserves much more than a wooden roof held up by poles.

She gets chocolate swirl and when she's licked the top of the cone, hummed in approval and pulled him off to the side of the shack so the line up behind them can get to their ice cream, presses her lips to his in a long, cold kiss.

It sends an exhilarating thrill down his spine, the ice of her lips contrasted so deliciously against the warm sweetness of her mouth.

"You did that just to tempt me," he hums when she pulls away.

"No, I got the chocolate to tempt you. This," she presses her lips to his again, "is just for me."

They stay tangled for so long the ice cream starts to melt.

With some quick wand work Remus remedies the problem and Tonks adores him all the more: this man that stops her ice cream from melting.

It melts her heart instead.

They sit on a bench under a group of willow trees that surround the shack and the breeze is light and nice.

There's slow jazz playing over the radio from the shack and when the ice cream is mostly gone Remus tips the cone into the trash and pulls Tonks up to dance. The sun has set and the fairy lights sparkle behind them.

"I don't dance, Remus," she says, clinging to his shoulders like he's just asked her to jump off a bridge "You know this. I am a hazard to box steps."

"Good thing I'm graceful enough for the both of us then."

He twirls them and spins them and Tonks closes her eyes, feeling tipsy and dizzy, almost like she's been drinking, but she hasn't. She's filled with happiness and love and as he pulls her close, hands on her hips, thumbs tracing circles against her thighs through the sun dress, something closer to lust.

The emotion starts in her chest, spreading out and tightening in the bottom of her stomach. Familiar. Teasing.

She runs her hands down his chest.

She wants him.

"I think we should go back to the cottage," she says, voice husky with need.

Remus stops their dance to look down at her, his eyes widening as she pulls him in for a kiss that is almost not safe for a public display.

When she breaks away he nods against her forehead, drags her blindly into the willows and with a _crack_, they both disappear.

* * *

"Dora, slow down," Remus chuckles, attempting to still the hands that are everywhere at once, tugging and pulling and reaching and caressing. Oh, those tempting little hands.

He manages to get them on the bed, her sprawled out beneath him, an ocean of pink hair framing her head.

"Oh, don't give me that Remus Lupin. You've been eyeballing me all night. I saw the way you looked at me when we were sitting at the picnic table. You wanted to jump me then."

"Whatever do you mean, Mrs. Lupin?"

She gives a shuddering kind of groan at that, loving the sound of _Mrs. Lupin_ and simultaneously hating how it makes her go weak in the knees; he laughs as she struggles with his belt.

"Have you charmed it closed?" she gasps.

"And what if I have?"

She groans then and flops back on the bed. "Remus, I swear―"

He crawls over her, slow, his body suspended above hers. "What, love? Tell me." He presses a chaste kiss to her temple, another to her cheek. She's pulls on his shirt, dragging his body closer to hers, but he resists for the minute, liking this game of cat and mouse.

"I'm going to have to take matters into my own hands if you don't take these off," she husks, fingering his belt loops. His lips are pressed behind her ear, nibbling teasing nothings against her skin.

He continues to ignore her hips, keeping his firmly out of reach until her hand disappears from his face, from the tight hold she had on his jaw to kiss him. It moves down her body, desperate for some sort of friction.

He drops against her, chest against chest, knees on either side of her thighs, and his hands snake down to catch hers. He pins them above her head.

"I'll have none of that," he whispers against her neck and she's already arching into him, hips meeting his in an offbeat rhythm.

"Don't play with me, Remus," she says, hooking her leg around his back, keeping him that much closer. He shifts, his pants becoming tight.

"Tell me what you want love," he answers, letting his hips roll over hers.

She moans. "That. More of that."

"And?"

"Touch me."

He buries his head against her shoulder as he brings their hips together again. He kisses her collar bone, letting his fingers slip beneath the waistband of her panties. He's suddenly very grateful for the sundress and the access it gives him. He skims his fingers along the edge of silky lace and his insides roll in somersaults.

She gasps against his ear, a series of shuddering almost moans. "Yes," she whispers. And his fingers disappear beneath the fabric and inside of her.

Her hips buck and roll as he explores, her knees squeezing his hips.

She's wet for him and ready. So very, very ready. And as much as he wants to bury himself in her now, he also wants to give her the immediate release she's been craving since dragging him in here by his collar and her lips.

He finds the tight bud of nerve endings and presses down with two slick fingers. She cries out, enough to send his heart racing and he shifts against her, another wandless spell loosening his belt.

When he slips inside her she melts like jelly beneath him.

And he loves her. He has since the first moment he saw her. And as content as he had been with her in this relationship. To hold her and treasure her and call her his. He likes this part of it too. Very much. There's less fear now and just excitement and pleasure. So much pleasure that he's not sure how either of them can even walk most mornings.

When the coils of energy inside them both finally explode, they lie in contented bliss, Tonks dragging her finger along the path of scars on Remus' chest.

"I don't ever want to leave here," she says. "Can't we just stay? Forever. It's so peaceful."

"We could, if you wanted."

"Don't tease me."

"I'm not." He runs his fingers languidly over her arm. "This place . . . it belonged to my parents once upon a time. It's where I lived up until the year I was bit."

Tonks sits up, pulling the comforter with her. She's very pale in the moonlight, almost like an angel and her slight frown makes him want to kiss her again. "Why didn't you say so?"

He tucks an arm behind his head. "I didn't want you to feel obligated. I know you're fond of your flat in the city." It was much easier trying to convince her to like and move into a place that she already seemed to like. If he had told her he had a dusty little shack of a cottage next to the ocean in the middle of nowhere she probably would have looked at him funny, but being here, nestled in bed under the soft patter of rain on the roof and the gentle hum of the ocean beyond, was a completely different truth, one she wouldn't be able to ignore.

She'd gotten caught up in the spell just like he knew she would.

The sex had probably helped a little, too.

"When you told you me you were going to take care of the living situation I never expected this."

"Surprise," he whispers. "Consider it a late wedding gift in progress. I'll get it fixed up. You can have a garden. We can walk the beach whenever you want. And I hear there's ice cream in town if you can drag yourself away from this bed long enough."

She laughs at him, swatting his arm. "So we can stay?" she says, her hand leaving his arm and skimming his chest.

"We can stay." He catches her hand and presses a kiss against her ring finger. "We'll get moved in this week."


	26. Chapter 26

They spend the last day of their honeymoon moving Tonks—and Remus—out of her flat and into what was once his childhood home.

Her wild and colourful things compliment the eclectic nature of the cottage and they spend an entire night sprawled out on the floor of the den, charming the wall different colours. Remus had filtered through the usual blues and greens, only to realize that his colour perception paled greatly in comparison to the topazes, and fuchsias, and indigos that Tonks suggested.

He should have assumed that someone like her, someone who always saw the world through a changing kaleidoscope of a lens would bring more to the table than just blue and green.

When she settled on something that she said was the same cerulean blue of his eyes, he rolled over and kissed her.

She smiled up at him until she sucked her lip into her mouth, eyes furrowed in thought. The walls became a richer shade, like the dusk before midnight and she told him that's what his eyes had looked like just now when he kissed her.

"Much better," she says, reaching to kiss him again.

He doesn't care what colour the walls all—make them all pink for all he cares—so long as she's happy. So long as she keeps smiling like that.

Next he fashions some shelving next to the fire place, making the room feel as cozy as the Grimmauld library, and together they stack their assortment of books side by side, little bits of her and little bits of him becoming one.

Tonks smiles for a ridiculously long time: until her cheeks feel tender and bruised.

When they finish with this Remus makes her tea and then brings a box down from the attic—they have an attic?—full of old family heirlooms and scrapbooks from when he was a boy.

She traces her fingers over a photo of seven-year-old Remus, smiling shyly at the camera, his front teeth missing.

"Your hair was much lighter as a boy."

"Hours spent outside on the beach," he says. "My mother used to paint. She liked being awake with the sun and I'd often join her in the sand." His smile is distant and lingering. Like memory.

"You missed it here."

"I never realized how much until now."

They spend the last day of their honeymoon building their life together. When they fall into bed that night, Tonks tries to remember a time in her life when she's been this happy: maybe when she got her Hogwarts letter . . . _maybe_.

But all good things eventually end and come morning—Monday—Tonks is expected at work and Remus has a chore list as long as his arm that he wants to get started on now that they're living in the cottage.

When she rolls out of bed, Remus joins her in the bathroom, bumping hips as they exchange the tube of toothpaste.

It's while she's brushing her hair that he catches her hand and begins to slip the rings from her finger.

"What are you doing?" she all but gasps, confusion breaking the peaceful morning bubble they'd been floating in.

"Do you want to wear them to work?" Remus asks, just as confused.

Tonks tucks her hand against her chest, closing her fingers in a fist, feeling fiercely protective of what the rings mean to her. "I do."

"You know that's probably not going to end well."

"It's nobody's business what I wear on my finger or who I'm married to."

Remus gives her a gentle sort of smile, not placating, but understanding. He watches her pad across the room, pulling on a jumper and her red Auror robes. "I just don't want to make your job any harder than it already is for you."

"If I let them tell me what I can and can't do with my life then I'm already losing."

"I know."

Tonks sits on the edge of the bed to slide into her boots. She stares at them, contemplating. "Dumbledore would tell me to wear them."

Remus chuckles, drying his hands on a towel that he tosses into the closet. "Is that how we're making decisions now? Asking what would Dumbledore do?"

"He wasn't head of the Order for nothing." She looks up to meet his face as her leans over her and buses him on the cheek. "See you tonight?"

"I'll be here, waiting with your letter of resignation."

"Very funny."

He grabs her hand as she goes to leave, thumb brushing the gold band. "Dora, are you sure?"

She gives him that no-nonsense, affirmative head nod that he's taken to mean he doesn't have a chance in hell of arguing with her. "I'm absolutely positive."

* * *

She's been at work for all of an hour before someone from reception notices—the secretaries are such shameless gossips—and before lunch Tonks has the Minister himself knocking on her cubicle. He waltzes inside, comfortable seeing as Scrimgeour was once her boss, though she supposes he still is in the grand scheme of things.

He gives her a pacifying kind of smile, one that tells her there's trouble brewing behind his twisted brows.

He gestures to her hand. "I hear congratulations are in order. Who's the lucky man?"

Tonks continues to flip through the file on her lap, surprised at how fast he's knocked on the topic. He's not really here to congratulate her, he's here for information. On whose orders she can't be sure, but either way it's none of his business. "No one you know, sir."

His smile trims off on the ends. "Tonks, the Ministry depends on your loyalty. You know the registries have cracked down on things like marriage in the last month. I never saw a request for a marriage license come across my desk. And if an Auror requested one it would have."

"That's because I never requested one."

"I can't have the Auror department throwing the Ministry standards to the wind. If I let it slide here than the whole place will want a free pass."

Tonks closes the file on her lap slowly. "You asked for my loyalty to the Ministry. And it has it. Haven't I proved as much?"

Scrimgeour looks miffed and is about to respond when there's another knock on the exterior of the cubicle and Tonks thanks Merlin for the timing. "Excuse me, sir. Sorry to interrupt, but we just got a line on a potential situation. I need my team."

"Of course, Shacklebot." Scrimgeour taps his cane against her desk. "Auror Tonks and I were just finishing." He nods curtly, eyes dancing on the two bands of colour against her finger until he's exited the cubicle; he turns on his good heel, dodging Kingsley with all the grace of a wounded lion.

When Scrimgeour's hobbled away, waving his cane and barking directions at the security staff that have accompanied him, Kingsley leans over the cubicle wall and whispers, "So, who _is_ the lucky man?"

Tonks makes a dramatic show of shrugging, but her smile betrays her. "I think you might know him. Nice bloke. Quiet."

There's a wry grin on Kingsley's face and the smile he gives her in return is enough to light a room. "Remus is a very lucky man. I'm happy for you two."

"Thank you. You might not be able to tell right now because I'm trying not to draw any more attention to myself, but I'm happy too."

"Told Mad-Eye yet?"

"Nope. You're the first besides my parents." She grimaces then, knowing she still owes them a visit. Tea was delayed seeing as she was busy scaling Remus at every possible opportunity during their honeymoon. She supposes she owes Molly a dinner invitation as well then. She wiggles her fingers, admiring the gleam and thinking about how busy married life was—it was a good busy though, one she wouldn't trade for anything.

Kingsley snorts and reaches over to pat her shoulder before walking away. Her lips twist as she spies the paperwork he's left on her desk. Apparently she was going to be writing up a fake incident report for the potential situation that just saved her ass with Scrimgeour.

She folds a new piece of parchment on her lap and digs her quill out from beneath a stack of files, grinning to herself for the rest of the afternoon. Her secret's still safe—Remus, that is—but any hope of concealing the information from the Order is dashed by dinner.

The news spreads through the Order like Fiendfyre—Tonks is fairly sure Kingsley sent a Patronus about it—and she's subjected to an hour long spiel from Molly (that almost borders on Howler-ish) as to why she wasn't involved or even told about the marriage until it was already said and done.

"We'll have to celebrate," the Weasley matriarch declares in her own Patronus. "I'll cook and we'll invite everyone. Tomorrow after the meeting. Oh, yes, that's perfect."

It turns into a thing then. Not a big thing but a house full of Weasley's and the Order and Hermione isn't exactly small either. Still, it's the best group of friends either of them have and as far as post wedding parties go, it's perfect.

Everyone's happy for them. Everyone's drunk on food and wine and good news. Fred and George set off a wild array of fireworks that chase Order members across the yard and Remus kisses her behind the house while they're supposedly off rescuing Crookshanks from a murderous firework that vaguely reminds them all of Padfoot.

It's Ginny that actually ends up rescuing the cat and Tonks bumps shoulders with her at the dinner table. She's grinning like Crookshanks after he's caught a gnome.

"What?" Tonks laughs, bemused by the look of complete joy on Ginny's face.

"Nothing," she says. "I'm just glad everything worked out. It means there's still hope, you know?"

And that's exactly why Ginny's always been her favourite Weasley. "I do."

The night lasts forever, well past the stars waking. It's fun and freeing: the perfect end to a pretty perfect day.

It's also the last thing they do as the Order because the next time they're all together they're rescuing Harry from his Aunt and Uncle's house for the very last time.

Mad-Eye doesn't make it.

Tonks thinks a small piece of her heart shatters at the news, never to be threaded back together, no matter how hard she tries.

* * *

It goes on for days: the feeling that everything's slipping away. Suffocating. Smothering. Tonks is drowning in something she can't see, only feel, and she wants it to stop. To end. Only she can't tell where the pain begins, where it starts or stops. All she knows is it's killing her.

This feeling.

This grief.

Terrible feelings settle between them like a concrete wall, thick and high, without gates or holes or any way to bridge the widening gap. Remus tries chipping away at it but the harder he tries the more she recoils, burying herself in the sand.

She hasn't cried since that night. Hasn't shed a single tear in Mad-Eye's name.

She just gets up with the sun every morning, dresses, and goes to work like nothing's happened.

Denial.

Remus knows she knows. The denial is only so strong. And she cannot pretend when such a huge chunk of her life has disappeared without warning.

She's stopped smiling.

And it's terrifying him.

The most potent source of happiness in his life has fizzled into a dull wisp of a flame.

Molly's called them around for tea several times but Tonks always has an excuse. When Remus goes Molly pats his hand sympathetically and tells him to give her time.

He nods. He's trying. He'll give her all the time in the world. He'll make time for her and pour it into her hourglass for as long as she needs. But she doesn't want time.

When he returns to her that night he finds her in the kitchen, the remains of dinner scattered around the floor in a mess of broken china. Her hair is tipped red, her chest heaves. He scans her up and down and notices her hand bleeds.

"Dora," he says softly, like he's trying not to spook her.

She looks up, eyes creased and broken. She's hopelessly lost, reaching for him without words, but something in her snaps at that moment and her eyes narrow, darken.

"Don't," she snaps, dodging his outstretched hand. She storms away up the stairs, the bathroom door slamming in the wake of her exit.

Anger.

Remus sighs. At least she's feeling something now. Something is better than nothing, especially when it's so clear that she needs to be feeling something for the mentor she's been left without. The friend.

He cleans up dinner and vanishes the rest of mess, wondering if it was an accidental act of clumsiness that brought the food to the floor or if the anger had surfaced before. Either way, the mess is of little consequence. Dishes can be repaired. What's broken inside of Dora will take more than a spell to heal.

Molly's sent home leftover casserole but instead of heating it for her—he knows she needs to eat—he leaves it on the counter under a freeze charm and goes to find Dora.

She's sunk into a mountain of bubbles in the tub, prodding at her hand where a rather deep gash has crossed her palm.

Remus sits wordlessly on the edge of the tub, knocking some of the bubbles out of the way, watching her shoulders tense. "Molly says hello," he ventures, trying to throw sticks across the divide, building the bridge.

Tonks doesn't reply. He doesn't mention the food, sensing it will only make her angry again.

"You're hurt," he says instead because it's very true and she seems reluctant to do anything to remedy the situation. He holds out his hand for hers, his other diving into his pocket for his wand.

Tonks merely rolls her eyes. "I can do it myself, Remus."

Her tone is cold and sharp, but it's the tired aggravation in her eyes, warring within, that tells him she doesn't really mean it. She's not trying to wound him with her words, she's just trying to remember how to use them, how to express feeling when everything inside has become numb.

"I know," he answers gently, leaving his hand outstretched to her. He's still trying.

Eventually she stops sulking and lays her hand on top of his.

It's not much but considering the events of tonight and the last several days he's counting it as a win. Mumbling a short spell, he runs his wand over her palm in a series of ladder-like movements. Almost-invisible threads burst from the tip of his wand and close the gash, sealing it from further harm until it can heal properly.

He lets her go when he's finished, a dull yellow glow pulsing around her hand as she turns it over in the water to examine it. She closes her fist, avoiding his eyes, but mumbles a quick, "Thank you," and he counts that as a win too.

"I'll turn down the bed."

He leaves her to soak in the tub. By the time she comes out he's already asleep.

She shifts in beside him but doesn't roll against him as she usually does, leaving substantial space between them. Remus doesn't notice it until morning.

He does however notice her outstretched hand, reaching towards the space in the middle of the bed where they usually meet and gives it a gentle squeeze before he gets up to begin his day.

She's not working so he lets her sleep. He steeps a pot of tea and reads the Prophet. When he's whiled away as much time as he can, hoping she'll emerge so he can talk to her, he accepts that maybe she's still too angry to be civil and charms her tea to stay warm. He also leaves her a plate of toast and the section of the Prophet that's not about cauldron bottoms for once.

He scrawls a note on some scrap paper, reminding her that he's off to the Burrow to help with wedding preparations.

There are a million things to do in the coming weeks, the sudden loss of Mad-Eye only adding to that weight.

Remus spends the day surrounded by the Weasley's, Harry, and Hermione. It's a nice distraction. He's missed the kids, their jokes and pranks and rebounding sense of humour.

Of anyone they seem to be taking the loss of Mad-Eye in stride, questioning more than anything about the next steps and the fruitless hunt for his body.

Bill assures them he's still looking.

Charlie's even joined the hunt. He also pulls Remus aside for a long moment to inquire about Tonks. No one's seen her in weeks.

They're all starting to miss that mischievous wink and wicked grin.

Remus is as well.

Charlie leaves him with a strong pat on the shoulder and a heavy sigh. "She'll come around," he says.

When Remus returns home that night, laden with everything and anything Molly could cook up—apparently the Weasley solution to grief is food—he finds Dora tucked into the recliner in the den, staring out at the ocean.

She's got the blanket from Grimmauld Place tucked around her feet and her knees drawn up to her chin.

She looks so hopelessly small.

He wants to scoop her up and take the pain that's settled so heavily over her.

Instead he lays a hand on her shoulder.

He's tried not to spook her but she jumps anyway, shivering under his touch.

The sensation of her cowering at his touch turns his stomach in knots. Tight enough to make him nauseous.

The last thing he wants is for her to pull away from him. She can be angry. She can kick and scream and hurl china across the kitchen if that's what she needs, but she cannot retreat from him.

He can't lose her like this.

"Molly wants to know if you have a seating preference for the ceremony? She said she'll save seats for us up front if you like?"

Tonks shrugs.

Indifference.

Remus takes it in stride.

"Molly sent food. She assured me they're all your favourites and though I doubt that since there's enough food in the kitchen to feed a small army, or a rather large orphanage, I'm sure you're hungry either way."

He'd seen the tea he made her earlier still on the counter, untouched.

She hadn't eaten yet today.

Another shrug.

"Do you want me to bring you something?"

Shrug. Shrug. Shrug. Shrug. _Shrug._

His chest tightens with each measure of lethargic detachment.

This was closer to depression and though he feared for the crockery with her anger, he feared the hollow shell that sat before him even more.

Still, it's a lot to swallow, this necessity to get up and keep moving when someone dies. He did it after his parents. He did it after James and Lily. He did it after Sirius. It's getting harder. Every time. And now, the one person he knows he could never live without, the one person he wouldn't be able to keep moving for, sits and stares at him like he's a ghost.

She hasn't had to do this very much. Yes they lost Sturgis early on and Chavers was a loss to her, but Mad-Eye . . . he was as good as a father to her and Remus knows what that kind of pain feels like.

It cuts deeper than the moon ever could and it never fades with the rising of the sun.

The first fingers of darkness creep along the shadows outside and Remus searches for the outline of the moon. He's running out of time.

"Dora, I have to go very soon."

Shrug.

He has the overwhelming urge to pick her up and shake her then because he's about to turn into a werewolf for the night and he can't help her, can't offer her any kind of support as a wolf. He can't even sit with her.

He just wants to make her better, to know that she's okay before he leaves for the night, and she's clearly not okay right now. Far from it.

"Will you be alright?" he asks her sometime later, crouched down beside the chair, his hand on her knee. She shivers and he thinks about moving his hand, but he doesn't. He's got less than an hour before he has to move to the cellar that's secured just beyond the property line. His bones are creaking and his muscles jerk in anticipation of the pain, but the lost look on her face is enough to push the thought of transformation from his mind; not much is able to do that and that's how he knows just how deeply Dora's embedded into his life. She's in his bones. In his soul. Forever a part of him and right now that part aches to console her. "I could take you to the Burrow if you wanted."

"I'll be fine."

Words! _Dear Merlin_, Remus thinks he might faint. "Dora, I'd really rather you weren't alone. Please, love?"

She looks up at him like it's the first time he's ever called her that and the glassy look that washes over her face breaks his heart. Before he can do as much as take her hand, she's risen to her feet and gathered her bag.

"There are some things I have to finish up for work. I'll be late. Don't worry about me."

She steps onto the front stoop and, with a sharp crack, Apparates. Feeling a weight like dread settle in his stomach Remus finishes the dishes and tidies the sofa before shedding his cloak and taking his wand to the cellar in the yard.

He locks himself in and spends another night cursing the moon.

When he stumbles out of the cellar at dawn, the back of his eyes still numb and blurry, he slips inside the house, expecting to find Dora passed out in bed.

There's a startling lack of pink and warmth in their bed. The sheets look untouched and when he runs his hands over her pillow—cold—he knows she never came home last night.

He grabs the door frame, propelling himself down the hall and back into the kitchen, looking for a note or a sign or . . . it takes him a moment to recognize the pecking at the window.

He staggers over to pull the tawny owl inside, nearly strangling the poor thing in his haste, and unrolls the slip of parchment.

_Got held up last night. Work emergency. See you later._

It's short and abrupt. She doesn't even sign it. This is not his Dora. This is a shell of a woman fighting to hold onto the things that still feel real.

Her words settle his anxiety over her immediate safety but stir something more pressing in his chest. She's ignoring it again. Attempting to bury the feelings in work: the anger and dread and depression. And if she tries too hard to stamp out those feelings she's going to do something reckless.

She's going to get hurt.

He's reading the Prophet by lamplight when she returns home. It's nearly dusk, the ocean a thin line of silver on the horizon and he hears as she slumps against the wall, the hollow thud as she kicks of her boots, the shuffle of tired feet as she pulls herself down the hall. She pauses in the doorway between the living room and the bedroom.

It takes a long moment for her eyes to find him but when they do he knows something in her has shattered.

She doesn't say a thing, just continues down the hall, the click of the bedroom door telling him she's decided to sleep off the feelings.

He gives her a two minute head start.

Then he follows.

He closes the door behind him with a soft puff. His hands rest behind his back as her watches her.

She stands in nothing but a long t-shirt now. _One of his_, he thinks. It reveals shapely, pale thighs. She pulls her hair out of the elaborate ponytail. It's a little longer than usual, falling in loose curls just below her shoulders. Brown.

She stares at herself in the mirror. She hasn't noticed him yet.

For a moment Remus thinks she's about to cry and then he sees the flash of pink that starts at the ends of her hair. It snakes up an inch or two before her face crumples and she loses the morph. She tries gain with less success and eventually all she can do is make the brown shimmer a lighter shade of brown. But nothing sticks.

Nothing is permanent.

"Dora, no one expects you to be on top of your game right now."

Her eyes find his in the mirror and then flutter down. "I don't have a choice, Remus."

"That's not true. You can take time to grieve, to miss him, to—"

"I can't! Don't you see?" She reels around, a blur of darkness, and in that moment he sees a lot more of her mother in her.

"Why?" he breathes.

"Because there're so few of us left now."

"Dora—

"I'm fine, Remus. Just stop looking at me like that. Everyone's looking at me like they expect me to crack or erupt or . . . I don't know, set a flock of Cornish pixies loose in the Ministry."

He notes the return of the sarcastic humour and for a brief moment lets himself believe that they've finally broken through that wall she's been barricaded behind. "We all miss him, Dora. But he was more than just a fellow Order member to you."

"They're all more than that now, Remus. Don't you see? I'm not okay with losing any of them. It's not okay." There's a tremble in her voice despite the anger she feels ripping down her spine and as soon as her fists curl she collapses on the bed and buries her face in her hands.

"I don't want to fight, Remus. Can we just go to bed?"

And whether she means she's done with this fight—this war—or if she can't talk about Mad-Eye anymore he doesn't know.

He crawls into bed beside her and debates about crossing the divide she's put between them. She doesn't roll away when he reaches out to stroke her arm. She just stares at the ceiling.

It's dark and he wishes he could see her face, but she's extinguished the lights and all he can make out under the sliver of moon is her silhouette and the blankness of her eyes.

"I'm sorry we couldn't find his body, Dora. That you didn't get to say goodbye."

He hears as her breath stalls; everything's so much more acute in the dark and he can feel the shift in the bed when her shoulders start to shake. It only takes a moment for him to realize she's crying, that she's finally broken down.

"I just never thought I'd lose him. Of all the people I worried about . . . he wasn't one of them."

"I know." He reaches out his arm to her and she accepts, rolling into his embrace and it feels like home, her against his side like this. He sighs into her hair and cradles her head against his chest.

Her fingers wind into the tear soaked fabric of his shirt. "I can't lose you too, Remus," she says against his flesh and the words become a hot rush of pain and fire and truth in his veins. "Promise me. Please?"

Her broken sobs are bridged by his promises. He promises her all night, whispering it into her hair, against her cheeks, over her lips. He promises and promises and promises. "I'm not going anywhere."

* * *

**A/N: So . . . this was kinda angsty. Sorry for that, though it did seem relevant and I was super excited to get the next chapter after this one posted because it's one of my favorites that I've written so far. Anyway, hope you enjoyed. Drop me a comment to let me know what you think. I always appreciate feedback :)**

**Next chapter should be posted shortly. Thanks, as always, for reading and commenting.**


	27. Chapter 27

The loss of Mad-Eye is a blow that the Order doesn't really recover from. They've lost a kind of unity and experience that is irreplaceable, but with Remus' help, Tonks moves on. She keeps fighting. Keeps warring with the world in the name of justice because that's what Mad-Eye would have wanted.

He'd want them to keep fighting. And she owes it to him.

So Tonks goes to work, helps Molly prepare for Bill's wedding, kisses Remus every chance she gets, plants a little tree at the edge of the cottage garden and carves Mad-Eye's initials into it.

Sometimes she thinks it would be easier not remembering. Sometimes she thinks it would be worse.

The day of the wedding finally arrives and Tonks and Remus spend a lazy morning together. When the sun has drawn up above the curtains, she ushers him into the shower.

Molly's planned everything down to the minute, including exactly when they're to be seated and they've promised not to be late.

For Remus' part he manages to shower and dress in less than ten minutes and for a moment Tonks envies the male sex before she sees him and then she just wants to have sex.

He leans against the doorframe, shirt tucked, hair properly dishevelled, jacket tossed over his shoulder. Her stomach gives a great jolt as she takes him in.

"Yes?" he says, watching her expectantly.

She shakes her head, biting the inside of her cheek. "Nothing. You clean up alright."

He snorts at her nonchalance. "Oh, is that all?"

Tonks fights the smile that tugs on the corner of her mouth. "Well it's not exactly _nothing._"

"Hmm."

"But whatever you're doing, you can just stop. You'll make us late."

"I'm doing nothing of the sort," he says, eyes sparking devilishly.

"Mm, right. I'm going to shower."

"Guess I should have held off then. We could have saved some water."

She considers it again as she brushes by him in her robe―just turning and ravishing him—but then they really will be late and he'll be a right wrinkled mess.

Waiting till later wouldn't be the end of the world. She spies him over her shoulder again and takes a deep settling breath, closing the bathroom door behind her and falling against it with a soft thud.

She thinks she hears him chuckle. _Yes,_ she most definitely does.

When she's showered and clean and smells of a concoction of fruity bliss, she leaves the bathroom, a puff of sweet smelling steam escorting her across the room.

She's wrapped in a towel and though Remus is reading contently on the bed―jacket folded over the headboard, one hand propped behind his head―she knows he notices.

It's in the way he shifts, the book falling against his chest, his eyes flying up and then down. He does that several times, like his gaze is fighting gravity. A gravity that happens to land right on her ass.

She gives him a coy smirk over her left shoulder as his tongue darts across his lower lip.

"See something you like?" she asks playfully, sitting down in front of the armoire mirror, adjusting carefully to keep the towel from slipping down her front.

Remus abandons the book and lays back, both arms propped behind his head now. There's a swirling darkness in his eyes as Tonks watches his reflection and it makes her insides shudder.

"If I say yes, do I get to have it?" he asks.

"Perhaps," Tonks says, running a brush through her hair. It's dark brown and shoulder length. She was already playing with it in the shower, trying to decide on a colour for today.

"Perhaps? That's a rather vague answer." He watches a bead of water drip from the end of one of the brown waves and trail down her arm, glistening over pale, bare skin. With a thumb he loosens the collar of his shirt.

"Not vague, darling. Maybe mysterious, though."

He takes in a deep breath, trying to tamp down the feelings that are quickly running amuck inside him. She looks like some teasing, sensual creature sitting there in nothing but a towel, wet trails of water marring her skin in silvery rivers, her dark lashes batting in the mirror, her pink lips curling as he fights this inner battle. She's every bit the nymph her name prescribes.

Remus closes his eyes and listens to sound of his breath filling his lungs. It's distracting in the best possible way right now―calming and soothing―until she starts to hum and he retracts his earlier thoughts about the nymph because his wife is very much a siren: alluring and tempting and Remus knows she's one temptation that he can never say no to.

He clears his throat and shucks his tie over his head so he can undo another button around his collar. Everything feels so tight all of a sudden, his clothes so constricting and he's torn by the desire to rip them off or stalk over to Dora and kiss her into oblivion.

He sits up, legs dangling over the edge of the bed and rubs at the back of his neck. She's got her head tilted to brush out the rest of her hair, the long graceful column of her neck bending, open and inviting.

He stands quietly. She's got her eyes closed now. Still humming. Working rhythmically to straighten out the kinks and knots, easing the water out of her hair.

He pads across the carpet, silent on his feet and when he reaches her, places his hands on her shoulders.

She stiffens a little, surprised by his touch, but the corner of her mouth tugs up and she stops brushing her hair.

Her eyes are still closed as he bends, pressing a chaste kiss to the exposed curve of her neck.

She releases a breath, something like a contented little sigh. He trails his finger down her neck making a shiver run up her spine and she straightens in the chair.

He feels her swallow and his finger crosses under her chin and around her face, enough to turn her head and when he dips again it's her lips he finds.

She hums appreciatively at this and before long she's on her feet, clutching at the towel that's determined to slip down her body as she reaches for Remus on her toes. His fingers on her hips―curling and uncurling into the fabric―aren't helping the matter. She might think he's doing it on purpose if it wasn't for the fact he keeps denying otherwise.

"Remus," she chastises with a laugh and a smile, her lips curving against his; her eyes flutter open and she rearranges her arms across her chest again to hold the towel in place.

He laughs. "It's not me, I swear."

"Mmm hmm," she mumbles, running her tongue along his lower lip and then he's groaning against her mouth, his hands suddenly everywhere. She can feel the heat of his touch through the fabric and the fire on his tongue as the kiss turns passionate, insistent.

"Remus," she says, she gasps, one hand on his chest.

He groans again, this time closer to a growl and his head falls to her shoulder as her fingers snake up into his hair to hold him there.

His grip has loosened, his breathing settled, as he presses soft kisses to her shoulder. "We really will be late, won't we?"

"We will," she agrees.

She laughs at the indignant puff of air he blows against her skin, releasing him so he looks at her.

"I still have to get dressed."

"Then we better get you dressed before I refuse to let you out of this room."

"Molly would never forgive you if we missed the wedding."

"I suppose not." He kisses her neck and then the spot right below her ear. "Though it would be entirely worth it."

His whisper makes her insides quiver and her heart starts up again, beating in that wild frenzy she's come to associate with Remus when he looks at her the way he's doing now.

With great reluctance he guides her back to the chair in front of the mirror. She sits with a plop, looking up at his reflection, his hands on her shoulders again. His eyes are dark, blown with lust. Hers are quite the same, dark and wide, though by the look of it they've been shifting from midnight blue to steely grey on a dime. She furrows her brow and stops the morph, settling on the midnight blue.

"Why didn't you say something?" she asks.

Remus smiles gently. "It was quite the sight."

Tonks reaches for the brush again, considering. "What should I do with my hair? Pink or something more," she wrinkles her nose, "Fleur?"

Remus ponders, his lips twisting in thought. His fingers skim through the length of her hair. "Something long I think."

She smirks. Oh, so he was in one of _those _moods.

She settles on a twisty honey brown, almost to the small of her back and Remus hums his approval. She pulls the edges up and clips them at the back of her head, keeping the length but also keeping it off her face.

This indulging isn't something she's used to. When she works―which is all the time lately―there's nothing pretty about it, so keeping things simple keeping her hair short and out of the way―is the way to go. But today she gets to spoil herself. Today she gets to doll up.

She admires her work in the mirror. Her hair goes marvellously with her eyes. Tonks skims the lightest bit of mascara along her lashes and chooses a cheery kind of red for her lips. The gloss slides on easily and when she's done she looks up to find Remus watching her intently.

He's fingering his collar again.

"Do I look alright?" she asks.

"Beautiful, love."

She smiles.

"I'm . . . uh . . . I'll go check on the gift. Make sure it's ready to go."

"Good idea," she says with a smirk, watching his Adam's apple bob in the mirror.

He hurries from the room and Tonks returns to the bathroom, pulling the dress off the hook on the door. She doesn't close it because the bathroom is tight and Tonks is anything but graceful and knowing her she'll trip trying to put the stupid dress on and land in the toilet.

It's the same black one she wore that night of the Ministry Christmas party. The one Remus couldn't stop staring at when she came to Headquarters.

It takes her two minutes of struggling to get the zipper done up because it keeps getting jammed somewhere at the small of her back. When all the teeth finally click she has to resist the urge to jump and cheer. She lets out a relieved sigh and turns to inspect herself in the mirror. Her brow furrows.

_Wow_, was it ever tight across the chest. Did it always hug her hips that closely? Why wasn't it fitting right?

She twists in the mirror, doing that same dance every woman must do to check the angles. She doesn't look bad, quite the opposite really. Just fuller in places. Rounder at the curve of her hips and swell of her breasts.

Maybe she's put on weight. Maybe that's what married life―wedded bliss―does to a person.

Maybe she's just morphed a little. She straightens up and rolls her shoulders, considering. _Nope_, she knows she hasn't. She can feel it when she has.

Sighing, she slips into her shoes, holding the counter for support. Merlin, she misses her boots.

Where the hell is she going to hide her wand in this outfit?

She picks her wand up off the counter and twirls it in her hand as she considers.

There's not a lot of room as it is in the dress and her mother would probably murder her if she conjured pockets; though why women's clothing has to be so impractical she'll never know.

She could always take a purse or a bag of some sort, but that would require her keeping track of it all night which was bound not to end well.

She could always give it to Remus, though that defied every Auror code inside her. She was a Dark Wizard catcher. She needed to have her wand on her at all times.

"Alright then," she concedes, conjuring a black strap.

She hikes the dress up around her hips to fasten it to her left thigh, slipping her wand in along her leg.

She rolls the dress back down, satisfied. Though how she's discreetly going to remove her wand should she need it she doesn't know. This is clearly going to be one of those times she shows her knickers to complete strangers.

At least they're nice knickers this time.

"Dora, should I put this in a―"

Remus stands behind her, seemingly frozen, his head crooked, his mouth open on the rest of the forgotten sentence. He holds a bottle of chilled wine in his hand and for a moment his arm sways and she thinks he's about to drop it.

She spins to face him, smoothing her hands down the front of her dress and leveling out before walking across the room towards him, careful not to trip.

"A bag is fine, Remus. It'll stay cold until we get there."

He nods and blinks. Then he puts the wine on the dresser and catches her around the waist as she goes to move by him, pulling her close, his fingers dancing over the silk material of her dress. "You look magnificent," he breathes, like he's never seen her before. "You smell magnificent."

She laughs as they start to sway, a kind of lazy dance, and she clings to him. She's wearing heels and the last thing she needs is to be off balance. "Remus, you'll wrinkle my dress."

"Not if you take it off first."

He pulls away, holding her at an arm's length to let his eyes skim over her―pausing―his eyebrow crooking at all the right places. She feels the hot flush crawl up her neck and over her cheeks.

He pulls her closer to him, his hips jutting against hers as he finds purchase low on her back. He groans when she responds by running both hands up his chest and around the back of his neck.

He moves to kiss her but she turns her head and his lips dance over her neck. "You'll ruin my makeup."

"That's not all I want to ruin." He nudges her, his leg between her knees, and she stumbles, landing on the bed with him hovering over her.

He looks at her with such longing in his eyes, such desire that it takes her breath away, makes her mind fuzzy and her stomach clench. She even forgets about him wrinkling her dress as his hand skims along her leg.

He makes a trail of tingling swirls, leading from her knee, up her thigh and beneath the dress. He pauses, fiddling with her wand and looks up at her inquiringly.

"There's nowhere else to put it," she gasps as his hand closes around her thigh again, gently kneading her skin.

"I've noticed."

She puts a hand on his chest. "Remus . . . ah, Remus, darling, we'll be late. They've probably already started seating people."

"And whose fault is that?" he says against her neck where he's buried his face in her hair.

"It's not my fault. I couldn't . . . ah, Remus," she twists beneath his touch, ". . . get the zipper done up."

"Morphing in your sleep again?"

She hums thoughtfully, though she knows it isn't true. "Maybe."

"Well, I like this dress," he says, standing suddenly and pulling her up off the bed.

She's dizzy and flushed and very much just wants to fall back into bed with him but he pulls her in by the hips again, growling low in her ear. "I really like this dress. And when we get home I'm going to like it even more when I'm taking it off of you."

"Is that a promise, Mr. Lupin?"

"Oh, most definitely."

* * *

The ceremony goes off without a hitch.

Fleur glides down the aisle looking as beautiful as ever, though Remus is having a hard time focusing on anything but Dora. She's different today, somehow; he couldn't seem to pin-point it exactly but something about the gentle ease in her steps, the radiant smile that twisted her lips, the gentle swooping curves of her body as she cuddled up beside him felt different—he was very familiar with her body now and was certain there was a bit more of her in places that seemed to draw his eye, like her hips and her cleavage.

He almost wondered if she had morphed herself to fit into the dress a little more snugly, but she'd expressed her own concerns about the dress fitting strangely.

Either way, Remus didn't mind and found himself perfectly content with the way she looked right now. So content in fact he almost missed the vows as Dora shifted beside him, giving him a generous view of said ample cleavage.

She swats his arm, a thinly veiled smile on her lips as she watches Bill and Fleur run down the aisle together.

As they stand to clap along with the rest of the guests, Remus can't help but think that Dora really does look radiant.

She's glowing as she spins around to take his hand and guide him into the flurry of guests to go congratulate the newlyweds. He follows her like flowers do the sun.

When the day fades and the cocktail hour begins, the ceremony area transforms into a dance floor. Remus draws Tonks away from their table—the one they're sharing with Charlie and a horde of other Weasley's—and out into the thick of the music.

She clings to him, just his pale blue, collared shirt now since he's lost the jacket to the heat of the night, and he spins her, much slower than the music, but she likes Remus' pace, even if this particular Weird Sister's song requires a lot more head bobbing.

It means they're pressed deliciously close, and she doesn't miss the wandering eyes that glance their way. There are a lot of men at this wedding. Eligible bachelors by the looks of it but both Ginny and Hermione seem to be holding their own.

Remus leaves her for two minutes to procure drinks and in that time Tonks is asked to dance so many times by so many men, some of them strange and babbling at her in French, that she considers just hanging a sign around her neck that says _taken_.

"Mademoiselle, if you would be so kind?"

The hulking shadow eclipses the light around her and Tonks rolls her eyes, rubbing at her neck with her hand, hoping the stranger will see the rings and get the hint. He's fair and tall, his eyes green flecks in the light, curiously roaming up and down her body, seemingly undeterred by her insistence that for one, she doesn't dance (with anyone except Remus who's used to her clumsy feet) and for another, she's married.

He takes her hand pressing a kiss to the inside of her wrist, coaxing her back onto the floor. Tonks shivers unpleasantly at the foreign touch, digging her heels into the wooden dance floor.

"I believe the lady said she didn't want to dance."

Remus steps out from behind the stranger, two drinks balanced in his hand, the other reaching out to her. He wraps his fingers around her wrist, eyes trained solely on the fair-haired stranger. Something dark passes between them and with a nod of his head, the man disappears back into the crowd.

"You didn't curse him, did you?" Tonks whispers as Remus tucks her into his side, escorting her across the floor, weaving in and out between the dancers. He's so good at wandless magic that she's not entirely sure; all she knows is that he's lost the drinks on some waiter's tray and now has both arms wrapped around her.

Possessive Remus was truly a sight, and it made her stomach tighten with anticipation as he laced his fingers into the seam of her dress, pulling her so impossibly close that it was almost hard to breathe.

There are twinkle lights above them now, in the quiet corner where they sway, and it picks up the gold flecks in his eyes: a dangerous concoction of manly pride and want.

"Werewolves are terribly jealous creatures." His lips are pressed against her ear, his breath hot. "I can't stand to have you dance with anyone else."

She never intended to dance with strangers and in all honesty could have handled the boozy, French guy on her own, but she doesn't mind the reaction it's elicited from Remus. The way he holds her, strokes her back, all little things that tell the world she's his. She looks up into his eyes, her grin teasing. "Then you'll just have to keep me occupied, you silly man."

"In which way?" he all but growls.

"Remus!" she says, chuckling and sucking in a long breath before he's kissing her senseless. The world tips on its axis and Tonks feels like she's falling. But when she surfaces from the kisses he's holding her steady, tight and solid, her rock. Someone wolf whistles from the crowd. It sounds like Charlie.

"Staking your claim, are you?" Tonks asks as Remus laughs at the reaction their display has caused.

He tightens his hold on her waist. "Always."

* * *

The Patronus appears, Kingsley's voice booming like thunder against glass, and though she's heard the words, followed by a hundred pops of desperately Apparating guests, frantic screams, panicked footsteps, her first thought is not getting away to safety, but locating Remus in this mess of a wedding.

"Remus," she screams, being jostled, shoulder against shoulder, toe to toe.

"Dora!"

"Remus?"

Hands reach out and wrap around her shoulders. "Oh thank Merlin!" And then she's crushed in his arms.

She lets herself fall into his embrace for a moment, inhaling the chocolate and peppermint and wine and sweet scent of his pressed clothing; she lets it settle inside her, fill her, strengthen her. Then she pushes away.

"They're going to come," she says, hands running up the front of his shirt to grasp at his collar the same way he's sought purchase at her hips, fingers twirled into the hem of her dress. "Don't provoke them. Don't give them any reason to hurt you. Please."

"Dora, what are you―"

She leans up on her toes, pressing her lips to his. "No matter what, don't come to my rescue."

She presses one more quick kiss to his lips, sealing her words, his eyes threaded with concern as she pulls back, their hands separating as she steps away, putting distance between them. The remaining party guests assemble in clustered groups as the dark robes appear, one swirling swish at a time.

_The Ministry has fallen_. These people are not her friends.

The first of the Ministry members arrive in clouds of white.

She recognizes Yaxley at the helm. A looming wall of a man, seedy smile, slicked back hair. "Where is Harry Potter?" he barks into the crowd, the remaining guests quickly scurrying into a line.

A balding man is pulled from the crowd and questioned at wand point. He falls in a towering mess claiming ignorance.

Another man is question, kicked down to his knees by a burly Ministry employee.

Then a woman. Hauled away by her hair.

There's screams. People are crying.

Tonks steps forward. "They're telling you the truth, Yaxley. No one's seen Harry Potter tonight."

Yaxley stills, turning to look over his shoulder, a toothy grin on his face. He's behind her before she takes another breath. "Nymphadora," he growls against her neck, his fingers digging into her throat where he's sought purchase. "The new Missus if office talk is correct. Is your hubby here tonight?"

She swallows, leaning to the side, her neck stretching away from the hot breath. Her eyes flicker across the crowd to Remus; he's shouldering his way past Weasley's, brows furrowed darkly.

She shakes her head, meaning for Remus to stop. He does. Yaxley chuckles against her skin. "Let's try this again, shall we?" He pushes his wand against her temple. "Where is Harry Potter?"

"I haven't seen him."

"You should really decide where your loyalties lie now, Nymphadora."

"With the Ministry," she says, face a stone.

Yaxley chuckles again. It chills her blood and she's doing everything in her power not to crumble, not to let the weight pressing on her knees make her fall.

"I think you'll find your place in the Ministry will have changed by the time you return to work. Things are going to be a little different now," he trails his finger down her cheek, "Dark Wizard catchers aren't in such high demand at the present. But we'll find other uses for you I'm sure." His hand wraps around her chin, his breath rank against her face. "A pretty little thing like you is always in demand."

There's a scuffle behind them and Yaxley moves.

Tonks sees Fred and George wrestling Charlie and Remus back into the crowd.

Yaxley's grin is purely predatory.

"What do we have here?" he says. "A couple of good Samaritans? Maybe. Or the hubby? Now, now, now Nymphadora, which one is he?"

"He's not here," she says automatically. Lie. Everything inside is telling her to lie.

"We'll see about that. Rowle, start with those two. Take them inside. Make sure they give you answers to the questions. All of them."

Tonks stiffens at the sight. At the wand jammed between Remus' shoulder blades as he and Charlie are marched away into the Burrow.

Glass shatters and someone screams. Whether it's Remus or Charlie, she can't tell from out here.

"Run?" Yaxley says. "Want to run to your friends now? How about we take a little walk, Nymphadora? Come." He drags her by the arm, towards the crowd. "You want to show your devotion to the Ministry. This is your new job. Interrogate. Find out where the Potter boy is?"

"He wasn't here," she repeats. "None of them know."

"They will though." His eyes are wide, maniacal. "They do. These are Potters friends, see."

He drags her down the line. Fred's hands ball into fists. George steps in front of him. "No one's seen Harry. He wasn't at the wedding."

Bill steps forward. "Please, this is a celebration. We don't want any trouble."

Yaxley's eyebrow hikes up the side of his face. "Then why all the secrets, huh?"

Bill takes a step back, Fleur sheltered behind him.

"Ask them, Nymphadora. Use force if you have to. You've been trained haven't you? The art of getting information?"

She shakes her head. "No. They're Unforgivable."

"I think you'll find the Ministry standards have changed." He drags her around. "Let's start with the Mother shall we?"

Tonks' heart drops, skipping and tumbling and beating like a punching bag, into her stomach.

"Potter. Where is he?"

Arthur has his hands on Molly, his shoulder blocking Yaxley's path. "We don't know."

"Wasn't talking to you, Weasley."

He drags Tonks forward by the back of the neck. "This isn't a game people. We have intel that Potter was here tonight. Where did he go?"

The groups stiffens, stares, angry faces turned up in defiance.

"Very well, then. We do this the hard way. This is what happens when we don't get answers that we like."

He thrusts Tonks forward and she collapses to her knees, heels buried in the earth, dress gathered around her knees as she crouches in the dirt.

"Crucio!" Yaxley barks and the pain rips down her spinal cord like white hot lead, spreading through her veins. It's fire and she's not even sure when she begins screaming, if it was immediate, or how long it lasts, because the whites behind her eyes turn black and then she's blinking up at the sky, rolling over to a sea of red.

"Now again. Where is Harry Potter?"

Tonks inhales, it's shaky and someone's fallen down by her side, supporting her head as she twitches. Fred or George? She can't tell. Maybe it's Bill for all she knows.

There are shrieks and startled cries and the explosion of wood as furniture is dismantled. Yaxley storms away from Tonks, wrecking a trail to the house.

Molly shudders, handkerchief drawn up to her face.

Arthur drops with Bill to gather Tonks into a standing position. She leans against someone and for a second is overcome by how beautiful Fleur still is, sparkling in her wedding gown, as she brushes Tonks' hair away from her face.

A small smile is exchanged between them and after a moment Yaxley comes storming out of the house, Rowle in tow. He gathers the others that came. That have been interrogating and hurting. And with a bark of malice and a warning that they will be watching, the group Disapparates.

As the sound echoes in her ears, Tonks is stumbling forward. Towards the house. Towards Remus.

She barrels through the front door. She doesn't know who's on her trail, but whoever it is gasps at the destruction inside.

She doesn't give it a second thought though. Things can be fixed. Mended. But Remus . . .

"Dora," he gasps, grabbing her as soon as she's turned the corner. He pulls her down with him, where he was previously bent over a groaning Charlie Weasley.

His hands are on her face, prodding, examining, but she doesn't let him, just dives forward and clings.

"I heard you," Remus says into her hair. "Screaming. Are you alright?"

"I'm fine," she says, eyes tearing as she stares over his shoulder at Charlie. She pulls away some and meets his eyes.

"Remus, I'm sorry. I'm sorry," she says, cupping his face. "I didn't know what else to do. If they knew who you were, it would have been a hundred times worse."

"Dora, love, I'm fine. We're fine." He wraps his arms around her again, holding her as she shakes, partly out of adrenaline laced fear and partly in pain, the aftershocks of the curse threading through her still. "I survive a transformation every month that rips me apart and throws me back together. I can handle a couple of blokey Death Eaters." He tries for a grin, catching her chin with the crook of his finger and she laughs through her tears, tightening her grip on his shirt. "It wasn't anything. They didn't like Charlie's mouth is all."

"They broke the clock," Charlie grunts, cupping his face. "And then my nose."

"Episkey," Tonks murmurs, tapping his face with her wand.

"Thanks," he grunts, sitting up, blood flow stemmed. "Told Mum I should have brought some dragons. Could have used them as security."

He squeezes her arm gently and she sighs. Good old Charlie. Always trying to make everyone else feel better.

* * *

"You know, when I said I wanted to take this dress off you this wasn't exactly what I had in mind," Remus says as he helps Tonks into bed.

She chuckles under her breath. "Neither did I." Then she winces as he pulls it down over her shoulders.

His face tightens at the sight of her clenched up. "Oh, Dora."

"I'll be alright. Just need some time." She collapses onto the bed, her muscles protesting the entire way. Remus helps her into her pajamas, settling on an oversized shirt tonight. She groans when she has to raise her arms. This must be how Remus feels after every transformation. When the moon has ripped him apart and sewn him back together.

"How do you feel?"

She frowns, biting back the tears. "Kind of like I got run over by the Knight Bus."

This is not how any of this was supposed to happen tonight. And she has no idea what she's supposed to do when work starts on Monday. It was now when she missed Mad-Eye and Dumbledore most of all.

She reaches for Remus and he indulges her, pulling her close and telling her to sleep. It's the last thing she wants right now. She knows when she closes her eyes all she'll see is shapes appearing in the blackness, faces masked in white, and wands drawn.

Then there's only pain.


	28. Chapter 28

**A/N: Sorry this is so late! I quit my job so I can go back to school in September and then was in the middle of a move and then had no internet for like ****_days_**** . . . and it almost killed me. So anyway, here. Enjoy. The next chapter might be up today as well. -_- *shifty eye* Have to get everything posted while there's wifi to steal. :P**

**Let me know what you think. Big news should be coming in the next chapter for our two favorite people, though Remus is going to be considerably less pratty about it than canon Remus.**

* * *

The night after the wedding Tonks tosses and turns for hours, trapped somewhere between dream and consciousness, just awake enough to register the pain in her abdomen: the twisting, cramping pulse of energy that knocks against her stomach. It's enough to break the sleep fog, startling her into sharp, vivid wakefulness.

She lurches forward, one had propping her up from behind, the other gathered in the shirt she wears, trying desperately to staunch the source of the pain. The cramps tighten through her lower stomach, like stitches pulled too tight. She winces and her knees draw up in reaction to the jolt, toes curling, breath stalling behind her tongue, choking a mangled sob from her throat.

"Dora?"

Remus shifts beside her, pulling from his own sleep, sure hands searching for her in the dark.

She flinches away from him because everything hurts; every movement is a feeling against her overly sensitive skin. There's a strange fluttering in her gut, like fingers are dancing along her skin, pulling and pushing. _Morphing?_

But she's not. She'd know if she was.

Another wave of pain draws her knees to her chest. It's followed by a stretch, like when she pulls jeans on. It feels like her skin is sliding over her skin, adjusting around the inside of her body.

The effect makes her woozy and a wave of nausea follows the pain. She can taste metal on the back of her tongue: the taste of an Unforgivable.

She brings the back of her hand to her lips, counting and inhaling slow, deep breaths. Remus says something, but she can't make it out over the rush of blood in her ears . . . pounding, _pounding_, and then nothing. The sensations ease, disappearing altogether; it's such a whiplash change that she wonders if perhaps she dreamt the entire thing. If her nightmares chased her beyond her dream.

"Dora, love? What is it?"

"Just side-effects of the Cruciatus," she says, fighting off the gravel in her voice. She gives her head a slow shake. It _is_ just side effects, right? No one's ever died after suffering from the Cruciatus, right? Insanity? Yes, of course. There are cases. Cases that fall much closer to home then she'd care to admit. Other Order members even. But no one's died from it. There's another Unforgivable curse if death is the goal. One that works so much better. Her mind is full of darkness again, lit only by the green and white blurs from her nightmares.

_Crucio._

_Crucio!_

_Avada—_

"Dora?"

"It's nothing, Remus. Go back to sleep." But her voice betrays her, weak and thready—like a pulse about fracture—because it is something. It's everything. And yet she can't seem to grasp exactly what, not in these waking twilight hours.

His hand comes up to stroke her arm and all at once she's dead tired again, the weight behind her eyes making her head bob, and for the moment the pain has subsided, like a real wave, pulling back out to sea. So she lets the weight of her head pull her down and tucks herself into the crook of Remus' arm, letting him pull her close.

She braces herself, legs curled up along his thigh, but the pain doesn't return. Daylight arrives, the sea birds wake and a light rain begins on the roof, but Tonks stays with Remus, tucked beneath the blankets. And though she doesn't sleep for fear of the nightmare she's bound to have again, she's content enough at his side, drawing lazy patterns into the fabric of his shirt.

They'll need to get up soon, assess the real damage that's been done, and gather the Order, but for just a few moments more Tonks wants to—needs to—feel Remus. Just him, close and breathing beneath her touch. She doesn't know how many times she's come close to losing him in this past year or how many more times she will before this war's over.

Everything in the world is a threat to them right now.

Everything but each other.

So that's what they have to hold onto, she decides: _each other_.

When the rain subsides and the dull thud on the roof fades, Tonks presses a kiss to Remus' chin and rolls out of his embrace, tip-toeing her way to the bathroom. She passes her dress, piled on the floor, and Remus' suit, folded haphazardly along the dresser, his tie hanging over the bathroom door knob. Any other night this might have been a trail of passion, but right now it's just a reminder of how wrong everything had gone yesterday.

How frightened she had been when Remus had been taken for questioning and how much she had wanted to kill Yaxley: point her wand at his chest and just end it.

Is that what she had become? Is that what war had done to her?

Yaxley had told her that things would be different now. They had used the Unforgivable Curses without hesitation, without fear.

_The Ministry has fallen._

Is that what she had to be prepared to do now? In order to survive? To protect the people she loved.

She watches Remus' reflection in the mirror over the sink as she brushes out her hair, untangling the thick locks, still brown and curled from yesterday.

Watching the rise and fall of his chest, content to count his breaths, she makes an absent minded attempt at morphing her hair back to something more manageable. Shorter, shoulder length, and more pink.

She needs familiar this morning.

When nothing happens, Tonks breaks away from Remus and focuses on her own reflection, eyes screwed up in concentration. Her head flashes a muddy orange colour for a second, but it doesn't hold.

She can't even get the curls to recede.

She can't morph.

All at once the pain from last night returns, whipping through her body, and if not for the counter, Tonks might have crumpled to the ground.

Her hand is on her stomach again, her mouth open in silent shock as she swallows the gasps behind her tongue.

Clenching her jaw, she pushes herself up on shaky arms and her skin crawls over her skin, like a thousand prodding fingers are brushing over her. It starts in her abdomen, right below her navel and courses out from there.

"I'm no expert, but I don't think the after effects of the Cruciatus present like that."

Tonks opens her eyes, realizing only now that she'd clenched against the pain, to find Remus standing in the doorway, his hair mussed, his face rough with stubble.

His widen with concern, hazed from sleep, but quickly gaining back that sharp acuity in the depths of the darkening blue gaze.

She jerks her head, afraid any movement will bring the pain back. "This isn't from the curse," she agrees, letting her knees buckle, lowering herself to the ground. It feels like the safest thing right now when she's not sure her legs will be enough to support her. Her muscles throb and ache and pulse like she expects; that at least makes sense, but this internal pain, these waves of energy, it worries her. It makes her think that something's gone wrong inside where she can't see.

Her head knocks against the vanity as she crouches and she can feel Remus' hand on her forehead, callused fingers wrapped from temple to temple.

"You don't have a fever."

She groans in response.

"What can I do, love?"

"Nothing, I'll be fine." She peeks up at him with one eye half open. "Start the shower for me?"

He sweeps his hand across her face to cup her chin, then nods, rising with a _crack_ that most definitely originates in his knees, to begin fiddling with the water.

When the room fills with warm steam, Remus pulls her to her feet and presses a kiss to her forehead. "I'm going to get started on breakfast. Shout if you need me."

Tonks waits for him to leave before she shimmies out of her clothes, hoping to spare him the anguished look on her face as she contorts to get her arms above her head. Before the chill from the bedroom can catch her, she slips into the shower, releasing a rather loud sigh of relief.

The water helps. It really does. The rush calms her skin, the heat creeping deep into her bones, settling her fears and clearing her mind. She's starting to feel a little more like herself—the dragon-hide wearing Auror and not a frightened little girl—as she scrubs away what remains of yesterday: the filth and grime and fear. She scrubs until she's raw: until she can feel something more than crushing numbness.

After the shower she's feeling much better, refreshed, relaxed, like all her muscles have turned to goo, or maybe like her bones have been vanished and she's in need of some Skele-gro.

Though she doesn't really care for the jelly-legged feeling right now, it's preferable to the pain, so she drags on a loose pair of pants and one of Remus' jumpers before heading out to the kitchen where she can hear him tinkering on the stove-top —the sharp crack of a shell and the hot sizzle as cold egg meets warm pan for the first time.

She stops next to the counter, leaning against the ice box.

"Any news yet?" she asks as Remus stirs the eggs around the pan. He stops long enough to butter some toast, neatly piled on a plate, and the warm smell has her all but drooling. She hadn't realized how hungry she had been until this very moment, the smell triggering some desire for not only breakfast but chocolate: endless, copious amounts of chocolate. _How strange._

Maybe she'd had too much to drink yesterday and this was some kind of adrenaline-shutdown fueled hangover.

The pain and the nausea and the out-of-sorts feelings were all a product of too much liquor, not enough water, and a bad case of blood rage that popped up every time she thought of Yaxley and his stupid, twisted sneer.

Her heart patters a little faster at the thought and she has to work to calm herself. What she's really worried about is what she's facing tomorrow when she returns to work. If what Yaxley said was true—and she has no reason to believe otherwise—the Ministry is going to be a very different place come Monday morning.

A dangerous place.

Her hand clenches around the rings on her finger and a fiercely protective heart swirls through her chest. She doesn't know how to do this. How to protect Remus when the rules have changed.

Have their rules changed as well? Is she supposed to do anything and everything now—even the things that hurt and maim and kill—to protect him? To protect their friends?

If Voldemort really has taken control of the Ministry, then she's fighting for her life now. For their life together.

"Are you okay, love?"

"Hmm?"

"Feeling any better?"

"Yes," Tonks says, touched by the worry in his eyes, by the sympathy and warmth she feels as his arm brushes hers, fingers squeezing just above the elbow, "much better."

He gestures to the table with a flick of his head and she sits down in front of the plate he's set out.

He tips half the pan of eggs onto her plate and slides the toast over. She adds some sugar to her tea and takes a long dreg. After she swallows a couple mouthfuls, filling her stomach, she looks up at Remus. He's leaning against the counter, plate in hand, fork half-way to his mouth, watching her.

"What?"

"I'm worried about you." He puts his plate down, breakfast unfinished, and sits at the table with her, taking her free hand in his. "I thought I'd go insane last night . . . hearing you scream like that and not being able to do anything."

Tonks pushes her eggs around her plate. "I don't remember much screaming, truthfully. I think I blacked out for most of it."

Remus winces, like he wishes he'd been the one to black out instead, but she knows how he feels. She knows the tight knot that her chest twisted into at the thought of him in danger, just beyond her reach. How it drove her mental.

"I would have killed Rowle if it meant getting back to you, but Charlie was already hurt and I didn't want to make things any worse for the others . . . I'm sorry, Dora, I should have been there."

"Remus, don't apologize to me. None of this was your fault. None of this could have been prevented. It was best that you didn't retaliate anyway. Like you said, things might have ended off worse than they did." She drops her fork. "We were lucky."

Remus' lips pull into a thin, worried line. "Luck has a tendency to run out."

There's a pregnant pause and Tonks can feel the question mulling on the back of her tongue. "Would you really have killed him if you had the chance? Rowle?"

Remus contemplates her for a long, silent moment, thumb running over her knuckles.

"Yes."

Tonks nods. "Is that what we're supposed to do now?"

"The rules of this war have changed, Dora. _He's_ moved out into the open. We need to make sure we move with them or we'll be caught off guard." Remus rubs at his eyes. "We don't get to make the same mistakes as last time."

"Which were?"

"We didn't duel to kill. Only to stop, to bring them in. And we lost good people because of it. Friends. Families."

"So we fight for our lives . . . every time we walk out the door now?"

"If that's what it takes."

He sighs heavily and Tonks squeezes his hand. "What are you thinking about?"

"Honestly? Lots of things. I don't want you returning to work tomorrow. I'm scared out of my mind about it. I also think you should go see a Healer with what happened yesterday . . ."

Tonks makes a face and Remus gives her a tiny, knowing smile. The only way he's getting her to a Healer is if she's already dead.

He lets out another sigh then, his lips flattening into a line. "And no one's heard from Harry since last night."

"Ron? Hermione?"

He shakes his head and flips the Daily Prophet onto the table. There's an article on Hippogriff handling on the front page. "We haven't heard anything from the other side either which means they don't have them. It'll be plastered across Diagon Alley if they ever get their hands on them. The only thing we know for sure is that the three of them were seen leaving the wedding together right before the goons from the Ministry showed up."

"That's a comfort, at least," Tonks says, "however small."

Remus shrugs, like he's not sure it really is. "Molly said they were planning this. She knew something was up; they'd been secretive all summer."

"Then it must be important, whatever it is."

"I agree. I only wish they had trusted the Order enough to let us help. We don't even know where they're going. They're only children."

Tonks gives a breathy, half-smile. "They're too smart to be children. They knew exactly what they were doing by not involving the Order."

"Oh?"

"Protecting us all."

"They shouldn't have to do it alone, though. Whatever it is they're doing."

"I think they'll have help. People will help them. It's how we're going to win this war."

Remus gives her a reluctant half-smile. "Dumbledore did tell me to trust Harry. It was the last thing that man ever said to me actually."

"Do you still trust Dumbledore? Did you trust him then?"

"Yes. To both of those."

"Then Harry'll be alright."

Remus plays with the ring on her finger, thumb twisting the band in slow circles. "I think we should head over to the Burrow soon. See if there's anything we can do to help."

"I assume that's where everyone with gather at some point today," Tonks says in agreement. She pushes her plate away, not as hungry as she originally thought, and as Remus washes up, she gathers her wand and her cloak.

"Ready?" he asks ten minutes later, waiting for her by the front door.

She slides into her boots and sweeps her hair over her shoulder. "If Molly's still managed to cook a meal in that mess of a kitchen I'll eat my boots."

Remus chuckles. "Then I hope you're still hungry because we both know that's the first room she would have tackled this morning."

"I don't know where that woman gets her energy from."

"Today she's probably just glad that everyone walked away from last night relatively unscathed. Well, minus Charlie."

"What, his nose? That's nothing. I think I broke it for him a couple times while we were at Hogwarts."

"From what I've heard of the two of you I'm not sure your friendship would be what most considered healthy."

"Oh, and your friendship with these so called Marauders was much better?"

"Touché. Though I never broke Sirius' nose."

"But I bet there were times you wanted to, right?"

They Apparate off the front step, Remus' laugh disappearing into that crushing place where time and space warp, landing on the edge of the Burrow's property line. Before they cross over Remus takes her hand, sobered and serious again. "I think we need to increase some of the security charms on the cottage."

"We need a border around the property line," Tonks agrees. "Just in case."

"We're unplottable for now so that's a good start." Remus waves his wand, sending a Patronus ahead so they don't get hexed as they cross the garden.

"But who knows how long that will last. As soon as someone gets a hold of Housing &amp; Relations at the Ministry, the land documents and ownership will be public knowledge."

"And by public you mean Death Eater?"

"Who _else _would you be worried about having that information?"

He's silent and it's enough to make Tonks stop, halting his long stride. He looks up at her under a fringe of hair. "Greyback already knows where the house is. He attacked me there as a boy."

Tonks squeezes his fingers. In her peripheral she can see Molly stand on the back stoop, shielding her eyes against the sun as she waits for them.

"That's why you had all the enchantments on the cottage already, isn't it? You were worried about Greyback."

"He threatened me when I was underground. He vowed he'd find you if I didn't conform. If I didn't stop trying to corrupt the younger ones."

"You don't have to worry about me so much. I've dealt with people like Greyback. It's my job. Or at least, it was last week."

"I know, but I do anyway."

She pats his chest. "We can put stronger charms up."

"I want a secret keeper."

Her mouth falls open. "Remus . . . I don't think that's necessary."

His hands wrap around her elbows and his gaze is intensely present, boring into her own with enough energy to force her back a step. "Maybe not yet, but I want to be prepared. Just think about it, will you? If you had to choose someone right now. I just want us to be ready."

She looks past his shoulder for a brief moment, registering the destruction that was once the Weasley's yard. There's furniture and decorations strew across the lawn, wide holes blown into the earth, and lines scorched through the flowerbeds.

This is what it looked like when they weren't ready.

"Alright. I think on it."

His lips fuse to her head, just above her hairline. "Thank you. Now you should probably go say hello before Molly marches out here in her slippers."

"And where are you disappearing off to?"

"Arthur's got the family clock dismantled in the barn. I told him I'd give him a hand. It's surprisingly Muggle inside considering it runs on magic."

"Good luck. It might be a while. You know how he likes to tinker."

"I suppose it's the least I can do after yesterday. It'll probably just be nice for them to have people around."

Tonks nods, releasing Remus, and turns to face Molly. The woman looks surprisingly small in her apron, the cheery, good natured smile replaced with a worrying frown. She makes quick work closing the distance between the fence and the house. She can feel Remus' eyes on her back. He watches her until he's sure she's inside.

It's a testament to how fast things have changed. How badly.

"Wotcher, Molly," Tonks says as she steps onto the stoop.

"Hello, Tonks, dear. I hope you're hungry. I've been cooking all morning."

Tonks gives her a sympathetic smile.

"It's good for the nerves, you know?"

"I've never turned down your cooking before, Molly. Not gunna start now."

She follows the woman inside, past the kitchen and into the dining room where an assorted brunch spread is lined across the table. "Help yourself to whatever," Molly insists before snatching a silver bottle off the table.

She stalks over to the fire where a redhead is seated in a chair.

Tonks snatches a blueberry muffin off a plate, listening to the exchange.

"Ger-off me, Mum. I'm fine. Honestly. It's a little cut."

Tonks walks around the table to find Charlie hidden under a massive purple bruise and a pound of raw dragon-hide steak.

"Merlin, Charlie, what happened?"

"I said Vol—"

"Charlie!" Molly shouts.

"Well, you know, I said _You-Know-Who's_ name, and this burly bunch of Ministry traitors showed up on the front lawn. Me and Hagrid were out there vanishing the chairs from last night, see, and those sons of—"

"Charlie!"

"Stupid wankers sent a stunner right at Hagrid and before I knew it I was swinging. Got a couple good swipes in too. Malitov's gunna need a couple of good spells to fix his nose up right."

Tonks fights the smile she can feel curling her lips. Molly looks absolutely exasperated and she doesn't want to sound like she's encouraging Charlie, but she mutters, "You always did know how to throw a good punch."

Charlie smirks at her. "Learned from the best, didn't I?"

"So what did the Ministry goons want?"

"Oh, yeah. Well I guess _His_ name's been tabooed. Say it and a group of Death Eater lackeys will show up," Charlie grunts, holding the steak to his eye. A line of green dragon blood drops off his chin.

Molly tuts disapprovingly as she dabs a purple paste all over his face. "They wanted to know where Ron was," she says.

Tonks nibbles at her muffin, catching Charlie's eye before asking, "And what did you say?"

Charlie pulls away from his mother and the grin he gives Tonks almost makes him look maniacal with all the bruising. "Have you seen our ghoul lately?"

"The one who lives in the attic?"

"Guess Ron did some fancy transfiguration on it; if anyone asks, he's down with Spattergroit. I have to hand it to him; the kid's got more of Fred and George in him than I ever thought."

Molly frowns. "They didn't even take anything with them. There was no time. I just wish I knew they were safe." Her shoulders shake and Charlie winces.

"Aw, Mum. They'll be fine. Don't cry. Don't—"

Molly excuses herself and leaves the room claiming she has to check on the scones, though the kitchen is through the other door.

"She's been doing that all morning," Charlie says, running a hand through his spikey hair. His head falls back in defeat before he realizes how much it hurts and then he struggles to right himself, groaning and cursing under his breath.

Tonks is suddenly reminded of watching Charlie recover from old Quidditch injuries—bludgers to the face and bats to the head. Though back then they had Madame Pomfrey on their side, now it's just a bottle of Oden's Magical Bruise Remover—which kind of smells like Hippogriff pee.

She finishes her muffin and tosses the wrapper into the fire. "A lot happened last night. It's a lot for one woman to deal with. You know she's got so many of you and she just wants to make sure you're all safe."

Charlie contemplates that for a moment and then asks, "How're you holding up?"

"Fine."

"Been to see a Healer yet?"

Tonks rolls her eyes. "What is it with you and Remus and wanting me to see a Healer? I didn't see anyone else being toted off to St. Mungo's last night."

Charlie's hikes his good brow. "According to Dad, Yaxley did a number on you. He didn't think you'd even regain consciousness after you passed out. Said you screamed like a banshee and dropped like a lead. Should have heard Mum go on and on last night. Thought she was going to march over to your place and start spoon feeding you soup—you know her—food makes everything better."

"I'm fine." Tonks hops onto the table, takes up the paste that Molly abandoned, and continues dabbing Charlie's face. "Besides, between the two of us I'd say you're the one in need of immediate Medi-witch attention."

"Why do I need a Medi-witch when I have you, huh?"

"Because my field training is limited to repairing broken noses and stemming blood flow. This," she waves her hand in front of his face, "is a mess."

"Yeah, well, I've been called worse. And by you to boot."

"Only when it was true."

He laughs and Tonks makes another round with the paste. She thinks the colour might be fading a little, though it might just be the movement of the sun across the back window. Her hands are sure and gentle, but even so she can see the way Charlie's face tenses, flinching and twitching.

"You're different," he says as her hand brushes his temple.

"How so?" she asks, voice easy and distant. She's kind of got caught up in the motions. Distracted by the task.

"I don't know. Happier I guess. Softer."

That snaps her back and she raises an eyebrow. "Softer?"

"I don't know. Like the old Tonks probably would have punched me already for being such a patsy. You're being very domestic. It's really weird. Truthfully you're kind of freaking me out."

She glares for a moment before bursting into a bubbly laugh. "Guess I've done some growing up since school."

"Yeah. Too bad. We made such a good team." Charlie tilts his head to give her access to his jaw. "Remus is a good guy."

"He is."

"So you married him, huh?"

"I did."

"Maybe I ought to try this married thing too someday. Bill seems to be making it work even though a bunch of psycho Death Eaters crashed his wedding."

Tonks frowns. "How's Fleur coping with that anyway?"

"Surprisingly well. Didn't think she would, honestly, seeing as she's kinda on the far end of the high maintenance scale. But I don't think there's ever been a quiet wedding in the history of the Weasley's, so I'm not really surprised it ended with a bang."

"Well I think some of Fred and George's fireworks would have been preferable to the Death Eaters."

Charlie chuckles, adjusting his steak so she can cover his face with more of the paste. "I'll tell them you said that. They'll be over the moon."

He watches her for a moment, good eye glancing across her face.

The look makes Tonks grin, like when they used to be back in school, sharing secrets and trying to get each other out of detention—or into it. "What?"

"I had the biggest crush on you in school. You know that?"

"I did."

"And?"

Tonks shrugs. "You were my best friend. I didn't want to ruin that."

"Friend-zoned, huh? Was it my Weasley charm or my infatuation with danger that scared you away?"

"You were the only guy I knew who didn't ask me to do stupid things with my hair or change my face just because I could."

Charlie shrugs. "I liked your face the way it was. What happened to the pink anyway?"

"Truth? I've been having trouble morphing today."

"And you didn't think it prudent to see a Healer?"

Tonks dabs his face a little harder than necessary. He gets the hint. "I'm not dying, Charlie. I'm fine. Just a little shaken up."

"Have you told, Remus?"

"He knows I've been having some issues with my morph. I didn't think it necessary to tell him about it today, too. He's really worried about Harry and he's already freaking out about me going back to work tomorrow, so I don't need to add fuel to that fire."

He's silent for a moment, maybe wondering if she'll jab him again if he says anything else. "I know I've been off taming dragons for a while now and you've gone and become this kick-ass Auror who can probably still kick my ass, but you know I'm still here right? You've got a friend when you need one."

Tonks gives him a genuine smile. "So you're not running back off to Romania?"

"Not for a while. I think I should probably stick around home. Help out where I'm needed."

"I'm glad you're staying Charlie."

"_Yeah_ . . . so you think we would have been any good together? Say you and me did give it a go way back when?"

"You mean if I hadn't of friend-zoned you?" She sticks her tongue out teasingly before giving it some serious thought. She'd always liked Charlie—really like him—but love? She'd only ever felt that for one man.

"I mean, we are good friends, right? Relationships have to be built on that kind of stuff."

"Honestly?" Tonks says. "I think we're too similar. Too stubborn and hard-headed."

"Yeah?"

She nods. "We'd have been terrible together. Probably would have ended up killing each other."

"Yeah, you need someone like Remus to level you out." Charlie quirks an eyebrow at her. "What does he think of the pink?"

"I am very partial to witches with pink hair."

Tonks looks around to find Remus is the doorway, his eyes twinkling in that secret, knowing way. She wonders if he's listened to the entire conversation: if he wonders about her and Charlie and this old friendship that exists between them, but she can't see any sign of jealousy or worry in him now, only good natured teasing.

"Do I pass the test?" he asks then and Charlie laughs.

"If you're good enough for Tonks then you're good enough for me. As long as I remain the only dragon tamer in her life then I'm fine with it."

"You're in the clear there, Charlie," she laughs, getting up and giving his shoulder a squeeze. She joins Remus in the doorway and leans up to buss him on the cheek. Before she pulls away she whispers, "I'm much more partial to mild-mannered werewolves anyway."

* * *

Monday morning dawns dark and grey, a perfect prelude to the day she's about to have, Tonks suspects. Her Auror robes have never felt heavier, weighed down with the responsibility of the Order and the Ministry—the old Ministry that is—and she's seriously contemplated Owling in sick.

She's still not on top of her game, but she assumes not showing up will draw more attention to herself, so she shakes off the aches and pains, and laces her boots.

She's just pulling her hair back when Remus joins her in the front hall, observing their reflections in the mirror. "So is there a plan for today?" he asks. "With how to proceed?"

Tonks pulls the elastic from between her teeth and knots it around the ponytail. "Kingsley thinks the best thing is to just show up as normal. Ignorance is bliss sort of thing."

"You mean feigned ignorance?"

"Yeah, well, I guess we'll see how good my acting really is." She looks back at her reflection. "Mad-Eye would have known what to do about this."

"So would Dumbledore."

His fingers brush the ends of her hair, the loose waves falling down the center of her back now. Even like this it's much too long for work. "No pink today?" he asks.

"I couldn't get my morph to stick."

Remus bites the inside of his cheek and she can sees the wheels turning in his head, the worry in his eyes starting to spread, furrowing his brows and the lines around his eyes. "Maybe you're still a bit weak from the curse."

"Maybe." She doesn't really think that's it, though. It's more like her morph is fighting her. But Remus doesn't argue or tell her to stay home or even suggest a visit to St. Mungo's again. He just wraps her in a hug, one that lasts a little too long to simply be a goodbye-until-later hug, and tells her to send a Patronus if she needs him.

The hours that she's gone feel like eternity and Remus is certain that he'll crumble to ash if he has to spend another moment not knowing what she's up to. If she's okay? If she needs help? Kingsley and Arthur had promised to keep an eye out for her, but they were all targets now. All working against the Ministry from inside and it was only a matter of time before the Order web unraveled.

When the front door opens and he hears her stomp inside he sucks in a breath of free air and rushes to meet her in the front hall with another one of those crushing hugs. He doesn't know how he'll keep doing this every morning. How he'll keep letting her go.

He pulls back eventually and when he does she looks exhausted and drained.

He doesn't even ask, just pulls her back in, squeezing tighter and tighter.

"They've modified our duties," she says against his chest. She turns her face so he can hear her. "I'm no longer tasked with catching Dark Wizards."

"I suppose it does become mute when the Death Eaters are running the Ministry."

"I'm supposed to be tracking down Muggle-borns."

"For what?"

"They're bringing all Muggle-borns in for questioning. It's some kind of new registry." The fingers of her right hand curl into his jumper. "Remus, they're rounding them up like cattle. The first wave came in today. And they didn't all go home. I—I can't . . ." She stumbles and he catches her, leading her to the sitting room.

Her left hand comes up and in it is a piece of parchment, tasked with a list of names. He takes it from her and reads the script. Printed in tiny black letters at the top of the list is the name: EDWARD TONKS.

She's started shaking. There are at least fifty names on the sheet, some of them vaguely familiar, but none stand out as much as her father's.

"Dora, love?" She collapses onto the couch, hand on her stomach.

"I'm okay."

"You're stressed."

She pinches the bridge of her nose, waiting for the cramping sensation to pass and for the flutter of her skin to ease. Her eyes slowly unclench. "I have to go see my dad. Tonight. I have to talk to him before things get worse."

"You need to rest a moment."

"There's no time, Remus." Her breath quivers. "They'll be on to half-bloods next. Don't you see? Don't you—"

She grasps at her stomach and the urge to gag is stronger than ever. Remus pulls her to himself, hands slipping under the back of her robe until she can feel his hands on her skin, flushed and warm. Comforting. She relaxes at the touch. Leans into it.

"Change and then we'll go see your parents." He kisses her forehead. It's not what she needs right now. The coming conversation is only going to stress her out more and she's already not well, but he knows she won't settle about this. Not until it's done. So he gathers his wand and jacket and two minutes later meets her by the door.

They Apparate off the porch at exactly the same time.


	29. Chapter 29

It's been twenty-four hours since the round-up of all Muggle-born wizards was implemented. It's been an entire night since she talked to her parents about it—since they decided that the best thing for her dad to do was to go into hiding.

Tonks hasn't been able to shake the utterly sick feeling roiling in the pit of her stomach and because of it spent most of the night awake, staring at the ceiling.

She holds onto Remus now, exhausted and drained, using his arm as support as she watches her dad pack the small briefcase, folding a faded set of yellow robes into the last empty corner. "Can't you stay, dad? We could hide you here?"

He snaps the lid shut and buckles the rusted, gold latches. "It's really best that I don't. That'll drag you and your mother into it and you've already got the Ministry to contend with." Tonks feels her lip quiver, but her dad just shakes his head. "You _know_ it's best this way."

"But where will you go?"

"Here and there. I have old friends that live out of the way. I'll bunk in with some of them, but best to just keep moving really."

Tonks doesn't know what to say anymore. Any argument is moot; she already tried all this last night. "Is Mum coming home before you go?"

Her father shakes his head. "We said our goodbyes this morning before she left for work." He sighs. "It's better this way, too."

Tonks feels the prick of tears behind her eyes and her dad looks forlornly at her mother's side of the bed. "Dad, I . . . I don't know how long this'll go on for . . . or how soon I'll see you again."

He pulls her into a hug suddenly, her head nestled beneath his chin, and she feels seven years old all over again. "I love you, honey. You know that?"

Tonks swipes at her eyes and nods into his shirt. "Yes."

"Try not to give your mother too much of a hassle. No running off half-cocked. I don't care if it is your job."

"I'm not sure I want my job anymore."

"Don't give it up, Dora. They need people like you. You and Remus. People who know this isn't right."

"I don't know how I'm supposed to help anymore."

"You're already doing it." He cups her face, tilting it up, and she swallows the sob that's bubbled up her throat.

"Doing what?"

"Protecting those that can't protect themselves. That's what you signed up for, Dora. You were never just a Dark Wizard catcher. Even before the war."

She wraps her arms around his middle, threading them into his jacket.

"Hold onto that spirit, Dora."

She hugs him tighter, feeling the tears break away from her lashes. "Don't talk like you're not coming back."

Her father chuckles, low and slow; acquiescent. "Oh, I'm coming back. Your mother would kill me otherwise. It might just be a while. Alright?"

She nods against his chest, drying her cheeks on the fabric of his shirt.

Her father pulls away, then reaches for Remus, clasping hands with a solid thud. "Remus, my boy, take care of Dora. And check in on Andromeda for me. I know they can both take care of themselves but sometimes they forget they don't have to."

Remus nods, a curve to his lips. "Of course, Ted."

Tonks watches as her father bends to pick up his briefcase, packed with the essentials and enough money to get him out of the country should it get that bad.

He straightens, seemingly taking a minute to compose himself, then he fiddles with his watch, unclasping it. He turns and presses it into Tonks' hand, closing her fingers over it.

"I never did have a son to give this to, but hold onto it for me until I get back." He winks at her and presses a fluttering kiss into her hair, whispering, "There's always the next generation to think about."

Tonks fights a blush as the overwhelming sadness collides with her chest. "I love you, dad."

"Love you, Dora."

He nods once more at Remus, then he's off, down the stairs and out the back door.

Tonks tightens her hand around the watch, her other fastened with Remus'. They stand on the gravel drive at the back of the house for a long time and watch until her father's just a little speck against the dust. He doesn't Apparate, but walks the narrow path between the trees.

Then he's just gone.

Tonks can feel his absence in her chest, like a bubble that's ruptured and bled into her lungs. It makes it hard to breathe. Hard to think. She doesn't know when she'll see her dad again . . . _if . . . no don't think that!_

"Dora, are you okay?" Remus pulls her hand to his lips, pressing a kiss to her knuckles.

She shakes her head—she _isn't _okay—swiping at her eyes again, before taking a shuddering breath in through her nose. "I have to go to work. I'll be late."

Remus brushes the hair away from her face and presses a kiss to her forehead. "You know where I'll be if you need me, alright? You need anything, Dora, I'll come."

"I know," she says, mustering the last of her composure. Time to put on the brave face. "I'll see you tonight."

While Tonks Apparates to the Ministry, Remus returns home and spends another day pacing. He's tried to put his time to good use. He's tried to tidy and finish the endless make-work projects that have crept up since moving into the cottage, but his hands are too restless for wand work and though he's told himself that the siding needs painting, he can't decide on a colour without Dora.

All he can think about is her.

He finally breaks down and pours himself a glass of Fire Whiskey, hoping to take the edge off.

He's sitting in the arm chair, balancing his glass on his knee, ice bouncing, when she comes in, dropping her bag on the other chair and sliding out of her coat.

Remus resists the urge to jump up and smother her with his lips.

She looks exhausted again. Her eyes are red-rimmed, like she's been crying, or trying hard not to.

He sips his drink slowly, emptying the glass, before depositing it on the table and standing. He takes her coat from her and his eyes roam her face. She's worrying her lip, eyes averted; there's something she wants to tell him.

"Kingsley needs me to go in," she says on a sigh, resigned to the impatient sound Remus makes when she crosses out of the room and into the kitchen, pouring herself a glass of water.

"Where?" he asks, stopping on the other side of the island.

Tonks can see his distorted reflection through the bottom of the water glass. She drains it and pours another. She's been terribly thirsty today; maybe she's dehydrated herself with all the stress.

When the inside of her throat no longer feels like she's swallowing sand, she drops the glass in the sink and says, "Kingsley's been pulled off assignment with the Muggle Prime Minister but his team's still there. Yaxley's heading them now. We can't let the Muggles be dragged into our war. He figures it'll take me a couple days to make contact with them all without Yaxley knowing. They've gone off the grid so to speak, no magic, no contact with the wizarding world. Makes passing off as the Muggle parliament that much easier I guess."

"But why you, Dora?"

Tonks resists the urge to roll her eyes for his benefit. "You know _why_, Remus. Kingsley can't be seen with any of them. It's too risky for him. If they find out he's been passing information that's it."

"I don't like it. Yaxley's the one who tortured you."

"I know it's hard. But what other choice do we have?"

Remus reaches across the counter for her hand. "Let Kingsley send someone else."

"There's no one better than me to do this." She pulls away, not in the mood to argue. So many other things have happened today—bad things—and Remus knows this. He also knows she's the best one if the job requires any kind of concealment and she tells him so. "I'm a Metamorphmagus. This is what I'm good at; what the department uses me for. You know that."

"Anyone else would be better. They can take poly-juice."

"It's not fool-proof."

"Neither is your morphing right now—and no, don't look at me like that. You haven't been able to get it to stick since the wedding. What if it slips around someone who isn't supposed to see? What if it's Yaxley?"

"I never said this wasn't going to be dangerous. But that's our life right now."

"Purposely putting yourself in danger?"

"It's not purposely, Remus. It's a job that needs to be done for a friend. This is no different than you going with the pack when Dumbledore asked."

He's around the counter in an instant, a breath away from her, and she'd be startled by how fast he moved if she wasn't so riled up. "It's entirely different, Nymphadora!"

"How?" she snaps back.

"Because now you're my wife!"

That stops her and she takes a moment to look properly ashamed, to consider what he says. She leans against the counter, hands propping her up, but then she sobers a little because this is her job. What she signed up for. "It's only a few days, Remus," she says quietly, fighting the rough edge in her voice. It's anger, and a little bit of hurt that she doesn't care to admit to. "You were gone for months."

"I didn't have a choice." He looks away from her in anger, lips drawn together, brow clenched.

_And I do_, she thinks. At least, that's the way he looks at it. But she also thought Remus had a choice when he decided to go underground. He could have said no. He could have turned Dumbledore down. But in the end this isn't about who's right and whose assignment warranted more thought and less choice.

This argument is over the fact that he's afraid to lose her. Before, when he was away, they hadn't even had a word for what they were, neither of them able to admit it amongst the chaos, but now, despite everything, they're married. Man and wife. Tied together by vows and the same fierce love that had driven them both to anger so quickly.

She supposes that if he told her he had to go back underground now she'd fight him on it too. She'd tell him to let someone else go; to stay with her.

She doesn't want to fight with him. Not now. Not tonight. Not when it seems impossible for them to come to any kind of mutual agreement. She hasn't held him since this morning and after saying good-bye to her father she just wants to be with him. To feel his skin beneath her hands, his warm weight draped above her. "You know . . . you haven't even kissed me hello yet."

He sounds a bit miffed still, but his shoulders relax and he looks at her again. "Haven't I?"

She shakes her head, looking lost and a little bit helpless, making _him_ feel properly ashamed. So he does the only thing left to do in this moment and leans over to let his lips linger against hers, but before he can pull away she opens her mouth and threads her fingers into his hair.

"You're trying to distract me," he says between breaths, hand sliding from the counter to her waist. She's up on her tip-toes, pressing herself against him.

"I'm not."

"Hmm . . . you are."

"M'not," she hums, her words a ghost across his face, a vibration against his lips.

"Don't," he says. He growls, because her lips are so tempting. So pleasantly distracting and it makes him liable to bend to her will. Her every whim. Every request. "We're not done talking about this. I don't like—"

"I never gave Kingsley an answer and he's not expecting one tonight." She nips at his jaw. "We'll figure the rest out tomorrow."

"Tomorrow?"

She nods, stretching towards his ear, her breath a furnace against his skin. "Take me to bed, Remus?"

And that's enough for him. He wraps his hands around her waist, pulling her to him, hiking her up until her legs hug his own waist and he's stumbling them both down the hall with hot urgency, chasing the moonlight towards their bed.

He drops her down in the cradle of his arms, his thighs spread on either side of her waist. "Dora, are you sure you're feeling up to this? You haven't been well—"

Her lips crush his in a bruising kiss that leaves him breathless. "No talking unless that's more wandless magic to deal with this clothing issue." She skims her nails along his abdomen, hands wrapping around his shirt. "You're wearing far too many layers, Mr. Lupin."

His grin is positively wicked as he bends towards the moonlight, eyes darkened to the colour of night around the stars.

Then suddenly she's naked beneath him, hot hands everywhere at once, and there's fire in her belly that coils and springs and flames out, devouring everything in red hot desire.

In the morning Remus wakes—sated, warm—until he rolls over and feels her side of the bed, cold as ice.

_No_, he thinks, springing up with more agility than he thought he could muster at this time of the morning. "Damn it, Nymphadora," he growls as he races down the hall, towards the stairs. "Lumos," he says, lighting his way. He checks the table for a note. Any sign as to where she's gone. He can smell her scent in the kitchen, the living room, all over the area, fresh, from _this _morning. He's about to Apparate into the Ministry, drag Kingsley out of his office and demand her whereabouts when he hears the retching coming from the hall. Light spills under the bathroom door.

He follows the sounds, pausing only long enough catch his breath.

"Dora," he says, pushing the door gently.

She's hanging over the sink, arms shaking as she mops her face with a wet towel.

"You're still here," he says a little breathlessly, his mind registering how pale she is. "You were gone when I woke."

"I didn't want to wake you," she says. Her voice is raw, strangled out of her throat and she holds her hand against her lips, eyes closed, fighting off some internal urge.

"I thought maybe, you had decided . . ."

She turns slowly as he trails off. "You asked me not to go and I told you we'd talk about it. Did you really not trust me to keep my word?"

He feels like a git. "Of course I trusted you, I just . . . when you weren't there, I panicked."

She stares at him through a sweaty fringe and his heart breaks a little more. For her. For him. "I'm sorry, love. I was a prat. Are you alright?"

"Feel terrible, actually," she says. She looks back at the mirror and attempts to morph her hair. It doesn't hold, slinking back to brown. "I don't know where this keeps coming from."

Remus holds his arm out to her. "Come back to bed, love. Please."

She nods and doesn't even fight him as he steers her up the stairs, hands beneath her elbows to steady her dizzy gait. She's curled in a ball for most of the morning and eventually has to owl in sick to work. The pain's returned in full force. That same pain she woke with the night of the wedding.

For all Remus' worrying, all he can do is keep her company and keep her hydrated. She spends most of the day back and forth to the toilet, emptying what must surely be nothing now from her stomach.

He almost considers dragging her to St. Mungo's kicking and screaming; he's even contemplates stunning her (she'll thank him for it later), but at some point she passes out and he can't bring himself to wake her.

She isn't any better the following day. In fact she seems worse. He makes them breakfast and she sits with him, laughing over something she's read in the Quibbler (the Prophet's no better on information these days) and the next thing he knows she's hunched over the toilet, reduced to a quivering, moaning mess.

"Oh, love," he says, cringing at the way her back arches. Her fingers blanch around the counter as she splashes water onto her face.

She owls in sick again. Kingsley sends a Patronus at one point to make sure they're both okay. Remus replies, listening to the toilet flush again.

Just after lunch he runs to Diagon Alley to pick up the staples. Bread, milk, and several potion vials. The shop keepers don't turn him away even though he knows some of them suspect what he is. Money is money now a days, he supposes, and when so many will not risk leaving their homes for fear of Voldemort, his money is as welcome as any. He's grateful; the potions will settle her stomach at the very least.

He gets her to drink one when he gets back but by dinner she's sick again, hunched over the toilet, fingertips white with how tight she's gripping the bowl.

It isn't until the next morning that Tonks manages to sit through breakfast without getting sick. Remus keeps it simple just in case—toast and jam and tea.

She's still entirely too pale and her hair is that twisted honey brown from the wedding, but he'll gladly know that she can never morph again if it means she's alright.

"You feeling up for work today?" he asks as she hands him the next section of the Prophet.

"I don't think I have much of a choice. They're bound to send someone out after me if I don't turn up soon." She manages a smile and though Remus isn't satisfied that it's her usual grin, he accepts her need to get ready and offers to wash up while she hunts down her Auror robes; he thinks they're tangled up in the bedsheets.

Tonks leaves for work a few minutes early, expecting a mountain of paperwork to be piled in her cubicle. Names and addresses and post information pertaining to all the Muggle-borns she's been tasked to track down.

She passes through the atrium and takes the lift up the few floors. Kingsley's light is on in his office and she stops off there before heading to her cubicle. "Wotcher."

Kingsley looks up over his stack of parchment, eyes inspecting far too critically for this early in the morning. "You alright? You're very pale? Remus said you were sick."

Tonks huffs. "No . . . I don't know."

"Well you don't quite look like you."

"I haven't been feeling quite like myself lately."

"Since the wedding?"

"Why does everyone keep coming back to that?"

"Maybe because the last Auror's that suffered the Cruciatus at the hands of a Death Eater wound up in St. Mungo's."

"The Longbottom's," Tonks says.

Kingsley gives her a look that tells her everyone's concern is well-placed and entirely valid. It's her who's being difficult.

She sighs. "Well, on that note, I thought about what you asked and I just don't think I can. I haven't been able to get a good handle on my morph these last couple of days and I don't know why. I don't want to put anyone in danger."

"That's fine. I understand. Don't feel like you were obligated."

"I wanted to help," she tells him and his smile is gentle.

"Sometimes we all need a bit of a break. You took a nasty hit at the wedding. Oh, don't look at me like that, Tonks, it _was_ serious."

"Everyone keeps telling me that."

"Did you go see a Healer?"

"They keep asking me that too."

"Then maybe it's time you go so we don't have to keep asking."

"Yeah, alright, maybe."

"Things are getting bad Tonks, real fast. We need you on our side. Don't let this knock you down." He writes up a note on the parchment in front of him and hands it to her.

"What's this?"

"Your get out of work excuse. Go get yourself looked after. We need you on point."

Tonks skims the note and groans. "A physical? I think I'd rather go scrub the loo."

"Enforced medical evaluation," Kingsley corrects. "I'm going through the Auror files," he glances at the open door and his teeth grit, "scanning for Muggle-borns in the department. You're coming due for your annual evaluations anyway. Might as well kill two birds with one stone."

"I think this is an abuse of your power."

He chuckles at that, deep, sombre. "Consider it multi-tasking."

"I hate St. Mungo's."

"I know."

"Every time I'm in there someone dies."

He threads his fingers together and leans over his hands, looking especially like Dumbledore. "If you don't take care of yourself, if you don't fight on our side, more people are going to die."

Tonks drops into the chair in front of his desk, one knee pulled to her chest, her right hand worrying her lips. "It's getting bad, isn't it?"

"I have to go track down Forbes and Leona today and tell them they're wanted down stairs for questioning. I helped train them both. So yeah, it's bad."

"What are they doing with the Muggle-borns?"

Kingsley's jaw tightens.

"I know they haven't all been leaving, Kingsley. I'm not blind."

"There's holding cells in the basement, in a room behind the werewolf capture holding area."

"They're locking them up?"

"Let's just be glad that's all they're doing for now."

Tonks shifts in the chair, feeling her skin crawl. She shivers and spares a glance over her shoulder. It always feels like someone's watching now. "And what do we do when it's not?"

"We fight back."

* * *

Tonks walks to St. Mungo's instead of Apparating over. She feels the need to stretch her legs, also hoping that the fresh air will clear her mind a bit.

The past several days haven't exactly been ordinary, though considering they're at war, it could be worse. If only she could get herself sorted out she'd feel better about the whole situation. _Well, this is the place_, she supposes, slipping in through the front door of the building. _If the Healers can't sort her out then she's really in trouble._

Once she's passed security, she gets in line behind a witch with a bird cage fused around her head that's sent off to the Magical Mishaps ward.

Tonks steps up to the circulation desk and a plump little witch with wiry black glasses gives her a curt nod. "Hello."

"Um . . ."

"Do you have an appointment?"

"No, I—"

"Wand please."

Tonks hands her wand over and watches as the woman runs it over the book of parchment. Her name and date of birth appear on the page, along with her most recent medical history. Her stay after the battle in the department of mysteries is listed as the last entry.

The receptionist hands Tonks her wand. "Have a seat just there. Someone will be out shortly to collect you."

Tonks collapses into the dark grey vinyl, avoiding the curious eyes from the wizards and witches around her. It wasn't everyday an Auror sat down in the middle of the St. Mungo's waiting room, and she hadn't had the foresight to change out of her robes.

"Tonks, Nympahdora?"

Tonks looks up and locks eyes with the witch attached to the voice. The Healer is a young woman with dark hair and dark eyes. She can't be much older than Tonks really, but she moves with the quiet confidence of someone with experience.

Tonks stands and rushes after her, ducking into an exam room and out of the hallway, drawing as little attention to herself as possible. She even manages not to trip on the strands of bandage dragging behind the Mummy portering patients through the halls.

"Good morning," the Healer says, skimming over Tonks' file.

"Wotcher." Tonks jumps up on the exam table.

"What brings you to St. Mungo's today?"

"I need a physical done for my Auror evaluations."

"Ah, the annuals."

"Yes, and, uh . . . I've felt a bit sick lately."

"Symptoms?"

"Nausea. Weakness. Pain in my lower abdomen."

The Healer helps her lie back before pressing her hands into Tonks' abdomen. "Sounds like more than a bit sick. Tell me if this hurts."

Tonks sighs. "It's not as bad as it was a couple days ago."

The Healer waves her wand, adding notes to the chart. She pulls a small glass vial from a nearby shelf, holding her hand out expectantly for Tonks' finger. "I assume you've done this before?"

Tonks nods and with a wave of her wand across her finger, lets a single drop of blood fall into the vial. The Healer adds a black silk stream from her own wand and swirls the mixture. It turns a brilliant shade of white.

The Healer furrows her brow and her lips purse, not in confusion, but something almost like it. "I'll be right back," she says suddenly.

Tonks shifts onto her elbows. "Is there something wrong?"

"No, I'm just going to the Apothecary for a second opinion."

"A second opinion on what?" Tonks says, but the Healer's already disappeared, leaving her alone in the room. Alone and utterly perplexed.

When the Healer returns she looks focused. Her eyes wide with knowledge. "You're a Metamorphmagus, correct?"

Tonks nods.

"I think the source of the pain you've been experiencing, as well as the symptoms, is because you're baby's been in distress."

Tonks almost rolls off the table. "Baby?"

"Yes, about four weeks by the looks of the potion. That's what I was checking."

Toks flops back down, jaw agape, heart hammering at the base of her throat. _The honeymoon_, she thinks. It's been about a month. Only a month? So much has happened in that time. A marriage. Her and Remus together. Moving. Mad-Eye. The wedding. Harry disappearing.

But a month . . . long enough for something to begin inside her. A child. Their child.

"You didn't know?"

"I—uh . . ." Tonks shakes her head. With everything that happened, she hadn't been thinking about things like cycles and her body. She just . . . hadn't.

She shakes her head, forcing her mouth close before her tongue dries out. The she sits up, so quickly she almost tips off the table again in a fit of dizziness.

The Healer steadies her with a sure hand on her shoulder.

"You said the baby's been in distress?" Tonks says, her hands perched around the edges of the table.

"Yes, it looks as though your system's been trying to terminate the pregnancy, but, I suspect that your body's natural ability to morph has enabled you to adjust to the fetus' needs." She taps her wand along Tonks' stomach, watching white bands of vapor weave in and out of her body. "Have you suffered any kind of recent trauma?"

"The Cruciatus," Tonks whispers.

The Healer's lips pull tight across her face. "That would do it."

"I've had trouble morphing these past couple days."

The Healer nods. "It seems that your body is trying to protect the baby, to keep it. And as good as that is, I still feel that you're high risk for complication. It's very early to have this kind of cramping and not expect to lose the baby."

Tonks furrows her brow, barely comprehending one shock after the other.

"It says in your file that you're an Auror."

"Yes."

"You need to scale back to light duties, deskwork."

"I can't exactly do that right now."

"If not you could be looking at bedrest for the next eight months in order to carry this child to term. Another trauma, another misplaced spell, another duel could be the end of it."

Tonks lets out a bated breath, heavy and hot and she feels tears prick behind her eyes. Joy? Sadness? She doesn't know, everything's mingled. This was not at all what she was expecting today.

The Healer removes her wand and Tonks places a tentative hand on her stomach.

"I'm going to issue you a potion to be taken every day. It'll help with the cramping and with any luck, the next time you see me we won't be talking about bed rest. I'll give you one dose now. Here drink.

Tonks does and then takes the piece of parchment to be filled at the Apothecary. She swallows hard. "What are the chances that this baby is going to make it?"

The Healer sighs. "You're strong. Your body is of itself magical. If any child is going to survive an Unforgivable curse, it'll be your son."

Tonks grabs at her stomach with a little more vigour, her breath caught somewhere in the back of her throat. "You said a son?"

"Yes, Ms. Tonks, you're having a boy." She smiles brightly then, clasping Tonks on the arm. "Let me be the first to say congratulations. Now I'll see you in six weeks. Make an appointment with reception on your way out."

Tonks nods in a stupor. _Oh, Merlin._

* * *

She returns home just before dark. The ocean is restless along the horizon, echoing the frantic flutter in her chest.

_Merlin_, a baby.

Remus is skimming the Prophet from this morning again. By the looks of the corners it's the umpteenth time he's read it today. "You were gone a long time," he says, dropping the paper down on the kitchen table. "I was expecting you home hours ago. Is everything okay? Did Kingsley understand when you spoke to him?"

He takes her bag from her, hanging it over the door knob.

"He did." Tonks bites at her cheek, wondering how best to broach the subject of pregnancy. Should she just come right out and say it? Go for the direct approach?

"Then what is it? You look . . . _worried_?"

Worried didn't exactly cover it. More like scared out of her freaking mind and so beyond happy that she expected that if she smiled her face might break. She licks her lips. "I stopped in at St. Mungo's as well today and saw a Healer."

Remus stills, uncertainty clouding his features. "Are you―is everything okay?"

"Remus," Tonks says slowly, eyes on his shoes before she finally manages to drag them up; there's something hopeful about them. "I . . . I talked to the Healer and she said . . . I'm pregnant, Remus. We're going to have a baby."

Oh, a baby.

Is that all?

That's not exactly the death sentence he was expecting.

Oh, _wait_, holy Hippogriff. What in the name of the good witch Glinda?

Had she just said_ a baby?_

For a moment he thinks he's fainted, and then, upon landing heavily on soft grass, realizes he's just Apparated without thinking. Without meaning.

He spins around in the darkening twilight, trying to get his bearings.

The sign on the street post reads, _Ridout Court Road, _and he thinks he may have spent a summer here as a child after he was bitten. They moved so much back then. Always hiding what he was. What he is.

_What he is._

_A baby? Is that what she had said?_

For some reason he doesn't think he's breathing and he has to grab his chest to make sure he is.

_No, couldn't be. But a baby? Something that's part her, part him . . . _he thinks he might be sick. He collapses on the grass beside the road, dew soaking into his pants.

_Part him._

Will the child be what he is?

Can it be?

Does it matter? There's a voice in the back of his head, creeping closer and closer to the front. _You decided to love her. You made the choice to love her. To let yourself._ Is this child really any different?

No, it's not. He loves it, too. Because it's her and him. Together.

He feels a gentle smile tug his lip upward and before he can think about it too much—what it all means for their future, what it all means in the middle of a war—he decides to bask in the happy glow of the moment and return to Dora before she has time to worry.

He walks to the end of the street and slips between a growth of evergreens, his feet leaving the ground before he's fully decided where he's going to land. Because of that he stumbles when he appears in the kitchen, grabbing a chair for support.

His limbs twitch with the aftershocks of Apparition, heavy and numb all at once. "Dora?" he calls, his voice raspy with unsaid emotion.

He makes a round of the house, flicking on lights with his wand, but she's gone. Her bag is missing from the door.

He waits for almost an hour, feet pounding a _thunk, thunk_ rhythm into the floor. The soles of his feet hurt. Then he hears it. The _clump, clump_ of her boots coming out of the fire.

He whirls around to meet her as she steps out of the green flames.

"Dora, where were you?" he demands. "I came back and you were just gone!"

She breezes by him and into the kitchen, without even looking at him, rifling through the cupboards for a new box of tea bags.

"Dora, say something? Please."

She exhales so sharply he almost expects her to turn and hurl a mug at his head. Instead she says: "Well you tell the bloke you're married to that you're expecting and I figured you'd have some sort of reaction, but just disappearing like that . . ." She finally looks at him, glaring over her shoulder, eyes narrowed and dark. "What did you want me to do?"

"But where did you go, Dora?" This idea of his pregnant―_oh, Merlin_―wife stumbling around pubs and drunkards looking for his sorry self makes him cringe.

"To my mother's place, of course." She looks away again, placing the tea back in the cupboard. "She's happy for us. In case you were wondering. Says dad'll be ecstatic when he gets back."

"I'm happy for us, too," Remus says, quietly, so quietly he wonders if she wonders if he means it. He does. Beneath the terror and fear and―oh, Merlin―is he even ready to be a father? Can he be a father? What if . . . what if the child bears his curse? What if―

"Are you?" she asks, acid in her voice like he's never heard it before.

He swallows the bile that builds in his throat. "Yes, Dora. Of course. You just, it took me by surprise is all. I never thought . . . I wasn't even sure we could, you know, with what I am. Werewolves don't usually reproduce." He falters then. "Actually, I've never heard of it."

He reaches out for her arm and turns her towards him, finding her wiping a tear from her cheek.

"Oh, love, I'm sorry." He leans his forehead against hers.

"It's a boy," she says. "We're having a baby boy."

A son. He's going to be a father to a little boy with Dora's eyes and his smile. Or Dora's smile and his eyes. Or . . . well, any combination of them is fine. Half him and half her.

"Merlin, we're going to be parents." There's a giddy, nervous kind of smile on his face now. He takes his hand and holds her cheeks. She catches his hand beneath hers. "Let's call him Teddy," he says.

She tilts her head up and kisses him, tears caught behind her eyes as she thinks of her dad and how excited he'll be to learn he's about to be a grandfather. "That sounds perfect."


	30. Chapter 30

The weekend comes and with it a reprieve from the Ministry—from the never ending list of Muggle-borns that Tonks has been assigned to track down (she's never felt so terrible signing her name to a bit of parchment before)—and some well-needed time to just decompress from everything that's happened in the last week.

She wakes Saturday morning to a fluttery sensation on her stomach—the soft whisper of words—and when her eyes pop open, widening in the dim morning light, she finds Remus propped up, hand under his head, tracing a path across her abdomen with his finger. The feeling sends goosebumps up her arms, eliciting a sharp shiver down her spine.

Remus is looking at her stomach so intently she wonders if he's just been having a conversation with the baby; it's her sudden restless squirming that's alerted him to her waking and his gaze slowly crawls across her skin, up over her ribcage, finding her face.

His smile, crooking only one half of his face, is enough to melt her heart.

"It's hard to believe there's actually a baby in there, isn't it?"

Tonks gives him a sleepy smirk as she stretches, shirt riding up even higher. "He's very little right now."

Remus lays his palm flat against the newly revealed expanse of stomach. "Do you think you'll start to show soon?"

"Not for a couple months still, according to the pamphlets I nicked from St. Mungo's."

"Been doing some reading?"

Tonks nods. "Research."

"I thought that was my department."

"What? Because you're the ex-professor and all?"

He nods and shifts up the bed, pillowing his head beside hers.

Tonks strokes the line of beard that's filled out his chin overnight. "I've done my fair share of research I'll have you know. Besides, isn't your specialty more in the vein of the Dark Arts?"

"I guess I'll have to take up a new specialty."

"Good," she says, ghosting her fingers along his jaw. "Because there's a lot for just one person to know. Feeding and nappies and all manner of wrinkly little pictures that are meant to be a baby as it grows inside you."

"And what do these pamphlets say our child looks like this week?"

"Sort of like a sesame seed I think."

"Oh, he is small!"

"Very," Tonks mumbles.

Remus watches her contentedly: the way her lashes bat against the rising sun, the delicate dip of her throat as she swallows against the morning fog that leaves her voice coarse, the soft glow of her skin. "I didn't mean to wake you," he says against her still skimming fingers, the tips brushing over his lips, exploring the softness, so smooth compared to the stubble.

"It was a nice way to wake up," she says, shielding a yawn behind her hand. She rolls her shoulders back into another stretch, her joints making satisfying popping noises, pulling pleasantly from the stiffness of sleep.

Remus uses the moment to wrap his arm around her waist, hand nestled at the small of her back; he pulls her against him, her chest arched, and he can feel her every inhale and exhale of breath, every tremor of stretch, every twitch of muscle. She's like a cat—the way she moves in the morning, slipping and sliding against the bed—and he can't keep his hands off her.

With a huff of breath she relaxes into his arms, the forced tension draining from her limbs, leaving her pleasantly jelly-like and snuggly. Remus thinks these quiet moments in the mornings, with his half-awake wife curled into his side, might be some of his favourite.

"How are you feeling?"

"Much better," she says, pulling at the fraying strings of his pajama collar. Her fingernails are just long enough to graze the skin on his neck and drive him crazy.

"Your colour's come back in your face. No more nausea?"

She shakes her head. "Guess that potion's working."

Remus suddenly rolls off the bed. "Speaking of which," he slips into the bathroom and returns a moment later with her vial of potion. "The instructions did say you should try to take it at the same time every day and you started yesterday off by taking it before work."

Tonks sits up and knocks back the potion. It cuts a fiery trail down her throat and settles into her stomach. She winces and hands him back the vial.

"Might be better if you take it with food," Remus says. He drops the vial into the trash beside the bed. "Any preferences for breakfast?"

Tonks shakes her head and flops back on the pillow. "Just keep it simple. Molly's expecting us soon. And you know how she gets when we turn down her food."

"Antsy and worried?"

"Yes."

"And then she makes us casseroles for weeks."

Tonks chuckles until he quiets her with a sloppy, wet kiss. She doesn't release him though, instead twining her hands around his collar and pulling him back onto the bed. She hugs him like an octopus, refusing to let him escape.

"Dora, you said Molly's expecting us soon."

"We do have _some_ time."

"Oh, really, and what do you propose we do with our time?"

Tonks keeps one arm hooked around the back of his neck, holding his warm weight against her, the other trails down the front of his shirt, towards his waistband where she can feel his hard length pressing against her thigh. She takes it in her hand and gives it a gentle, probing squeeze through his pajamas. "It seems like you might have some ideas." She palms him again and he gives an audible swallow before releasing a breathy moan, his arms quaking on either side of her head.

"It's just an early morning thing," he says, voice thick like gravel.

Tonks grins wickedly. "I thought you were just happy to see me. Well then, if that's so . . ."

She releases his length and makes to scoot out from under him. Remus rolls to the side but before she can slide off the bed his arms are around her waist, dragging her back towards the headboard. "I'm always happy to see you," he whispers into her ear, the stubble on his chin tickling her face.

She shies away, teasing him further. "Nope, you're right. There really isn't time with us having to be at Molly's and all."

Remus flattens his weight on either side of her hips, effectively pinning her. He chokes on a laugh when her fist reaction is to buck against him, sending a spark of pleasure into his belly. "You're quite the little minx this morning."

"I try."

"Are you really uninterested in finishing what you started?"

"I am very interested in finishing it." She reaches for his length again, deft fingers dipping below his waistband to grip the hot flesh in her hand. She drives her hand up and down his shaft and Remus grinds against her hip. Tonks stifles her own moan when his lips settle in the hollow behind her ear. "How sold were you on breakfast at Molly's anyway?"

"We could do lunch," Remus responds breathily, hands working to slide her knickers down her legs. "Tell her something came up."

"And what exactly is our excuse going to be this time?"

"Ah—I'll work on that after . . . uh, after—"

Tonks presses her lips to his, the taste seething fire and all things right with the world. "After is good." Using her hand she guides Remus' length towards her entrance and with a buck of her hips feels him slide inside her.

She groans, biting down on her lip and Remus' breath is hot against her neck. Her knees fall against the bed, opening her up to him and he fixes his arms beneath hers for leverage before starting a grinding pace that has him hitting all the right spots and leaves them both panting for release.

Tonks skims her fingers down his back, harder than she means to, leaving raised red marks from her nails, rutting her hips up to meet his as the final few thrusts push them both over that insurmountable cliff, tumbling with that weightless, giddy, free-fall feeling into blinding pleasure.

When the waves of white hot pressure abate, Tonks can breathe again.

She gulps in a fresh rush of air as Remus slips out of her, but not away from her, his arms still wrapped around hers. As he rolls he pulls her with him until she's splayed out across his still clothed chest.

"Good morning," he chuckles.

"Wotcher," she mumbles against his sternum, lips barely moving.

"That was a lovely way to start the day."

Tonks looks around for the clock. "And see, we still have plenty of time to get to Molly's for breakfast. No excuses needed."

"Or we could do something else entirely." Remus crowds her beneath him again with a leg thrown over her hip, hands slipping under her shirt, as he nibbles his way down her throat until she's squirming and giggling, breakfast at the Burrow entirely forgotten.

* * *

They end up on the beach before the noon sun has risen, stealing a quiet moment while it's available. So much of their life is shadowed by darkness right now that they take the time when it comes, basking in the normalcy of it, in the happy glow of the baby news and the way it makes them positively dizzy.

The beach is vacant for miles on either side of the cottage, their little piece of perfection.

With warm water against her feet and Remus' hands on her skin, Tonks can feel heated bliss seeping into her bones as he dips his hand beneath the hem of her sun dress, fingers tracing the smooth expanse of thigh he finds.

Her own fingers do some exploring of their own, fiddling with the buttons on his collared shirt, popping the first, then the second.

His scars are like light upon glass, the sun washing over them, highlighting silver shadows; blink and it's gone. She unbuttons the rest of his shirt and runs her hands over his shoulders, down the finely muscled planes of his chest. War might not have been wanted, but it kept him active, kept his body moving, and the threat of the moon every month, pulling and stretching, defined the muscles that jerked beneath his skin at her touch.

He was still thin, but broad shouldered, tapering to his waist. Molly had taken it upon herself to feed him up some, and the heavy diet accompanied with having enough Wolfsbane and a place to transform safely every month had alleviated a lot of his previous stresses and he had started to fill out again, adding to those muscles.

New stresses had taken their place, of course, arisen in the face of the Ministry's fall, but here, in the morning light, Tonks can appreciate the towering form of her husband as he peers down at her, those boyishly long locks falling into his eyes.

She reaches up to curl one around her finger. "Molly wants to give you a haircut."

"She tried the same thing on Bill: before _and_ after the wedding. I think she's just a fan of those scissors."

"I like it on the longer side."

"Bill's?"

"Yours, silly."

Remus bends and runs his lips along her neck, from the juncture of her shoulder to the hollow behind her ear. "Then I'll leave it." He twirls her in the water, eliciting a bubble of laughter from her throat before stopping and walking her back up the beach a bit, never letting go of his hold at her waist. "So, are we going to talk about it?"

"What?"

"The work thing?"

Tonks hums, a hint of wary disapproval in her voice. "What about work?"

"Dora, the Healer told you to scale back. That's what you said."

Her hand comes up for stability, a firm presence against his chest, as she leans back to see him properly. "I'm not quitting my job, Remus."

"I didn't ask you to. I just want you to slow down."

"There's no need. I'm feeling much better now. Much more myself."

Remus cocks his head and his brow. "And I'd like to keep it that way."

Tonks can feel herself shrink under the scrutiny. She finally lets out a weighty sigh. Not in surrender, but something else. "I don't know how to approach this right now. How about we just take it one day at a time and I won't take any unnecessary risks?"

"Avoiding unnecessary risks means pulling yourself out of the field."

He's got her there. But field work before and after the Ministry take over are two completely different things when there are no more Dark Wizard's to hunt. "There hasn't been much field work lately," she admits. "I've mostly been pushing paperwork and writing owls summoning Muggle-borns."

Remus looks skeptical but she shakes her head.

"I know you're concerned, love, but I honestly don't see that changing any time soon. I'm not exactly earning the title _Auror_ as of late."

"Alright, but—"

Voices carry over the rocks, lingering on the wind, and it's only when Remus has stilled, head turning slowly, that Tonks takes notice. Before she can get an eye on the direction the voices have come from, Remus has her up the beach and sheltered amongst the sand dunes.

"Who are they?" Tonks asks, quite aware that they're hiding, which means these are not tourists from town or regulars taking a stroll. "Ministry goons?"

Remus shakes his head, leaning around the rocky side of the dune for a better view. He's recognized the voices, the hair on the back of his neck prickling in response to the familiar gravel timbre of the guards, etched into his mind from his time spent in the underground. Now he just needs a sightline.

"Are they're looking for something?" Tonks asks, still trying to pry information from him. The emotions that cross his face are enough to tell her that he's worried, but other than that she can't get a read on the situation, or why he has her pressed up against the side of the sand dune, shielding her from view.

"For the house," Remus tells her, finally getting eyes on the two young men hiking across the top of the dune.

"Our house?"

He nods.

"Bollocks. But how did they even know it was out here?"

"You said they'd be able to get a hold of the housing registries. This house has belonged to a long line of Lupin's before us. Looks like they're scoping out Order properties."

Tonks nods in agreement. "They already have the Burrow under surveillance from what Arthur says, but they can't see what's going on unless they cross the property line."

"Most of our charms are still holding then," Remus says.

"They'd be holding better if Yaxley and the others hadn't tailed Kinsley's patronus inside the barrier the night of the wedding."

"He had to warn us. If not everyone would have been a sitting duck when they crossed out of the protective field."

Tonks is chewing on her nail, ears straining to make out the words that Remus obviously can. He's much more perceptive to these kinds of things, especially near the moon. "Do you think they'll find the cottage?" she asks when the noise has become a distant hum in the back of her head, clashing with the heavy sounds of the ocean.

"No." Remus squeezes her gently in assurance. "I had Bill come by and check it out."

His faith in their skills settle some of the rising panic in her chest, though she supposes if the Gringrotts curse breaker approved then the cottage was as well hidden as it was ever going to get.

The voices trail closer again and Remus tugs Tonks beneath the rocky overhang of the cliff wall that borders the beach.

"Those don't look like Ministry thugs," she says, catching a glimpse of tattered robes and unshaven, dirt streaked skin.

"They're not," Remus whispers, so low he elicits a nervous shiver from her and her arms flush cold. He pulls her tighter to him. "They're werewolves."

Tonks resists the urge to gasp as she looks up at him, eyes wide, panicked. "What are they doing here?"

"Greyback's looking for me."

"Why?"

Remus shrugs evasively. There's something he isn't telling her.

"Why, Remus?"

"He likes to check up on his marks every now and then."

"So what? He wants a social visit?"

"He likes to take stock. See what others of the same affliction have that he doesn't."

"See how the other half lives?"

Remus nods.

"And what exactly is he after that you have? You're not exactly living high and mighty right now with everything that's going on."

"It's not about the house, Dora." He bites his lips, like he's not sure he wants to tell her the rest.

"Then what?"

He sighs and looks her right in the eye, his face a breath away, and any other time she'd reach out and kiss him, but right now she can barely work up the urge to swallow.

"It's you, Dora. The entire time I was underground he was far too interested in _you_. He doesn't approve of relationships like the one we have. He doesn't understand it. How I could be in love with someone from a society that oppresses werewolves. But more than that he doesn't understand how you could love me."

Remus entwines their fingers. "He's only ever known fear in his life. Fear of his condition. Fear from the victims he marks. He thrives off that fear now. Even when the moon is down." They fall into silence, only broken up by the clatter of rocks as the men overhead dislodge them from their walking path. "We should go," Remus says. "These are young pack members, but I don't want to encourage them to stay should they find us."

He takes her hand and with a _pop_, disappears. They step inside the protective enchantment surrounding their property and duck out of the sun.

"You talk like you know him well," Tonks says as Remus closes the front door behind them, sealing it with murmured charms and a tap of his wand.

"Greyback?"

Tonks nods.

"I understand the way he thinks I guess. It's the way a lot of us think."

"Us?"

"Other werewolves."

Tonks is looking away from him, prodding the dirty dishes in the sink with her wand. Her shoulders sag; her words are quiet. "Is that what you feel when you look at me? When you're surrounded by the rest of the Order? Fear?"

Remus comes up behind her and with a hand on her shoulder, turns her towards him. She's still looking at the floor and he has to slip a finger under her chin to get her eyes to lift, so she can see he's sincere. "Dora, I haven't felt that way in a long time. I've been lucky. There have always been people in my life to tell me I wasn't a monster. But they're not all that lucky and eventually you start to feel the darkness that comes with the moniker: Dark Creature."

He skims his hand across her face and she kisses his palm where it rests on her cheek.

"Greyback doesn't understand you. Your seemingly objective standpoint regarding my condition. It fascinates him endlessly. And he likes to play with the things that fascinate him."

Tonks lets that settle, then with a slow dawning realization asks, "It's why you moved us out here isn't it?"

"Partly, yes," Remus admits. "So he wouldn't be able to find you. I always trusted the Ministry to protect you while at work, but outside, I couldn't know, and your cover was blown in the city . . . at Hogsmeade."

Something bubbles in her chest, though not anger. More like anticipation. "You should have told me."

"I didn't want to frighten you."

"I'm not afraid, Remus. It's just . . . nice to understand. Things happened while you were underground and I didn't know what they meant. Now they make a little more sense."

Remus runs his hands over her shoulders, stopping at the small of her back. "Greyback is a fan of mind games."

"I'll say."

"I never wanted you to have to worry about this. About Greyback. If it wasn't for my being—"

"If you try to apologize or blame this on yourself, Remus, I am going to hex you into next year. I knew exactly what I was getting into when I married you. Nothing's changed."

His smile when he looks over her face is thin, but sincere. "And this is exactly what Greyback doesn't understand about you."

"Well, he can get in line. I've been told I'm quite the oddball."

"And I love you for it."

"You should, I've also been told it's rather endearing."

Remus chuckles as he presses his lips to her forehead. "Let's go to the Burrow; no use hanging around here with these two snooping around."

Tonks nods and wrestles herself away from Remus long enough to change into something more sensible, spending far too long contemplating Weird Sister's tees and the sudden appearance of the wolves. When she returns there's a worried tilt to her brow and Remus sighs, the last of this mornings warmth seeping from him, replaced by the ever present anxiety that is war.

* * *

After an afternoon spent at the Burrow, helping Ginny pack for her return to Hogwarts, Tonks is beyond exhausted. She'd like to be able to blame it on the baby, but in all reality degnoming the gardens for Molly turned out to be a lot more work than she had anticipated, even with Crookshanks there as back up. It might have also taken a lot longer than planned seeing as Remus took every spare, uninterrupted moment to press her against the side of the house and kiss her silly.

He would let his hands wander under her jumper, grazing across her belly button, reminding her of the happy secret they shared, attempting to distract her from the earlier run in with the wolves. He didn't want her to worry or stress. The Healer had warned her against stress.

And too much arduous activity.

With that last bit of insistent advice in mind, Tonks had to turn down a game of pick-up Quidditch with Ginny, Charlie, and Bill for the first time ever. They had all looked at her like she had sprouted Gillyweed gills when she declined and took up a spot next to Fleur to watch, but then Remus, as usual, had come to her rescue, picking up a broom and marching out to the apple field.

Watching Remus and Charlie decimate Ginny and Bill had been an amusing way to finish off the evening. She was one of the only ones who knew about Remus' secret affinity for flying and Charlie didn't waste a second telling her how good of a catch Remus really was (like she didn't already know).

Keeping the baby a secret wasn't exactly intended, though Tonks thought it prudent to wait a few more weeks; at least until they saw the Healer again. She wouldn't be able to hold off much longer than that, especially once she started to show, but soon the others would pick up on the shift in her demeanor. Not just with the Quidditch, but in the little things. The glow that Remus claimed she had. The unconscious, protective way her hands now retreated to her stomach. Turning down subsequent shots of Firewhiskey in favour of pumpkin juice.

With all the hustle and bustle in the house, it was easy to slide under the radar for the most part, but Tonks hadn't missed the intriguing way Molly looked at her, giving her a hearty once over before ladling another dollop of stew into her bowl.

Feeling very full and very sated from the day, Tonks collapses into bed, pillowing her head against Remus' shoulder. "What do you want from life?" she asks him.

"Hmm?"

"When this war is over? When we win?"

Remus is quiet for a moment, fingers trailing from her shoulder to her elbow in lazy patterns before he responds. "I have you . . . this baby; that's more than I deserve."

Tonks turns her head up and kisses his jaw. "You deserve me . . . you've worked so hard to deserve me."

"And you make me happy. What more could I want?"

"Anything. Whatever your heart tells you."

Remus chuckles a bit at her insistence. "You're enough. Believe me."

"But just say 'if'." She props herself on her elbow, watching him with such eager attention that he feels compelled to say something. To answer. And he's never been anything but truthful with her about these sorts of things, so he settles back against the pillow and thinks on it.

"I suppose I'd like to work again," he says finally, "at a regular job, none of this in between, odd job kind of stuff."

"Teach?"

"Hmm . . . I think so. You know, my father hunted spirituous apparitions . . . it's where my love of defence came from. I was six when he showed me my first Boggart."

Tonks smiles. "And will you teach Teddy to defend from his first Boggart?"

"Certainly. He'll be a whiz by the time he starts school—with you for a mother . . ."

"And a professor as a father . . ." She kisses him. "He'll give Hermione a run for her money." She's quiet for a moment. "Remus?"

"Hmm?"

"What about children? You haven't said whether you actually ever wanted children."

He searches her face, the uncertainty that he sees there. "It was a thought I never even dared to entertain. I didn't think it was possible."

"But now that you know it is?" she prods.

"Now I'm very grateful for this little boy growing inside you . . . that he's safe . . . that you're healthy."

"That didn't answer my question. Remus . . . what is it?"

He looks beyond her, to the ceiling, collecting his thoughts. "I'm frightened Teddy could be like me."

"Like you? I should hope so. The girls will swoon over him."

"Not like that, Dora," he says, shifting until he's sitting up, staring at his knees. "I'm afraid he'll inherit the lycanthropy. That somehow he'll have my curse and I could never live through that . . . I could never bear knowing that something so small has to suffer that much with the moon."

Tonks' presence comes from behind, her hand on his spine, running her knuckles up and down. "Remus, darling, he won't."

"How can you be sure? He's half of each of us, Dora."

"Yes, half the _man_ that you are. The _wolf _is not who you are, Remus. It's a curse—one that is only spread if you bite as a wolf. Think about it, love. Logically. I'd risk infection every time you kissed me otherwise." She reaches around, turns his face and kisses him then, for emphasis. "Think about it."

He's staring at her lips when the pull away. "I know. I just can't help but worry."

"I've been doing a lot of that of my own, but not once did I worry about our son and your lycanthropy. So don't you either, okay?"

"Alright."

"Now answer the question."

"About children?"

"Yes."

"I suppose then . . . if things were different . . . if they ever are different. If there was no war and no—"

"Oh, Remus, bloody hell?"

He laughs at her impatience and, in a flurry of arms and legs, pins her to the bed. He kisses her all over, until she's breathing hard and fast. Then, against her throat, he whispers, "I'd want a family to rival the Weasley's."

Tonks grins as he makes his way back up her neck.

"I never did have any siblings. But James and Sirius became like brothers to me. And I'd want Teddy to have that. _I'd _want that. Children with your face . . . a little girl maybe." He pauses, lips hovering above hers. "What about you, hmm?"

She snakes her arms around his neck. "I want children, Remus. I _want _a family with you."

The picture of it fills his heart until it's pounding: him, Dora, and a mess of brown-eyed children. He feels it in the very tips of his fingers, the exhilaration.

"This is all hypothetical, of course?"

Tonks rolls her eyes. "I'll be pregnant for another eight months, Remus. As hard as we try there'll still only be one baby at the end of all of this."

"Well considering the state of everything, one baby is more than enough right now. Though I will quite enjoy trying . . ." He presses a trail down the column of her throat again with his tongue and he can feel her sharp intake of breath in the way her skin shifts.

"It is okay, isn't it?" she asks. "To be happy? Even though everything else is going wrong?"

Remus tucks her hair behind her ear, thinking back to James and Lily, having Harry in the middle of the first war. They never doubted their love for him, or each other. Not once.

He grins an impossible grin when he looks down at her. "I think this is one of the very best things to be happy about."

* * *

**A/N: So . . . we've reached thirty chapters and we have quite a few more to go before this story finishes (I actually have the last chapter written and ugh . . . all the feels . . . but now I have to finish the in between here and there) so hooray for that! I also have the next couple of chapters finished so they should be posted pronto. On another note I'm working at a summer camp starting next week (because I need to go to school and school costs money and the world sucks because what is money even? Like paper? Why does the world function on paper with dead people on it?) which goes until the end of August and then I'll be away in Toronto for FanExpo so basically, long-winded explanation short, this story is probably going on hiatus for the summer (because camp has no internet and I have no time; have to make sure the kids don't drown and such-so no distractions!).**

**I'll do my best to update as much as I can between now and next Thursday (In my head I said I should just pull a couple all-nighters and finish the story and then my head laughed at me) and hopefully end off in a place that isn't too cliffy-maybe the final battle? Eh, anyway, thanks to all you who follow this story and read and review. They mean a lot to me. I love hearing what you think and getting inspired when I hear people have stayed up all night just to read it through!**

**This story is also on A03 for any of you that read on there (I prefer the way it looks on A03 myself), under the same name and Author: firetoflame. Everything is updated the same so it doesn't really matter where you read I guess.**

**Anywho, thanks again for taking time out of your lovely lives to support this story! I look forward to hearing from you!**


	31. Chapter 31

The weekend ends, another comes and goes, followed by another, and before she knows it, Tonks is well into her third month of pregnancy.

She's officially off her potion now, though the Healer had told them at their last visit that she was to remain out of active duty. Tonks neglected to tell her that she was never really out of it, but was simply choosing not to get involved in some of the more dangerous work (though really, the worst of sending owls was a peck to the hand now and then).

Since the visit to St. Mungo's, she's noticed her waist thickening—as the Healer said she would now—though her clothes still fit and with her robes on it's almost impossible for anyone to tell, except for Remus who inspects everything about her so closely now, giddy with this new found knowledge of her changing body.

He also remains acutely aware of her pregnancy symptoms, researching and double-checking against any information he's been able to get his hands on.

Without the potion she's now a little more lightheaded, though the morning sickness hasn't returned, instead manifesting in the evening and because of it she's missed several Order meetings.

Remus fills her in on the happenings, makes excuses for her absence (all of which are getting exhausted), and brings her leftovers from dinner. In fact, sometimes he'll pop back home half-way through a meeting just to check on her—she's usually got her head in the toilet right about then.

The one good thing about being off the potion is that she's started to feel like herself again and with the pregnancy settling, becoming more familiar, Tonks has finally gotten a grasp on her morphing. Well, kind of.

She can morph certain things—hair and nails and eyes—and she's taken to wearing her hair pink again.

The first morning she walked out of the bathroom, hair bright and neon, Remus had pushed her against the wall and kissed her dizzy, threading his fingers into it. "Merlin, I missed this."

She still doesn't have as much control over her body yet. Her middle seems to exist in its own kind of bubble that she can't adjust, but the little things she can manage, more and more of it each day.

They go to the Burrow for an Order meeting at the end of the week when Tonks is feeling up to it.

Charlie is the first to greet her, whistling from across the yard as he approaches. "Well aren't you a sight for sore eyes." He holds her at an arm's length and gives her a once over. "Now this is the Tonks I remember."

Her lips twist into a show of pure elation. "It feels good to have it back."

* * *

It's a Tuesday morning, just after her shift at the Ministry's begins, when Kingsley approaches her about doing some real Auror work for a change.

"Thank Merlin! If I have to send another owl I'll peck my own eyes out."

He nods. "Meet at the lifts in ten."

Fifteen minutes later they're walking down a cobbled alley street.

"The disappearance of Ollivander?" Tonks says. "Isn't this something Yaxley and his Death Eater pals should know about? Seems like something they would do."

"They want it to appear like the Ministry still holds the community's best interests at heart. This is all for show—the investigation, our presence here—but I still need to issue a report. Thought you'd appreciate the break."

"I do, even if it's just to poke around Diagon Alley for a bit. Not that there's much to see here anymore."

Kingsley gestures to the shops. "Except for Fred and George, most people have cleared out. The fear gets worse with every disappearance."

"So was Ollivander just too high profile to ignore, or are the Death Eaters trying to stir something up having us here?"

"No, you're right. This is one disappearance they'd want to make a big deal of. If Ollivander isn't safe then who is?"

They stand outside the crooked little shop. Kingsley prods the door with his wand.

"I tripped over the threshold the day I got my wand—going in and out—I was just so excited." Tonks takes a careful step inside, waving away the clouds of dust that float in the air.

"We couldn't afford a new wand when I started at Hogwarts. I got my dad's hand-me-down."

Tonks looks over, eye brow raised.

Kingsley turns the wand over in his hand. "Still works like a charm. He makes them to last, that Ollivander."

Tonks takes a few steps into the shop, around the front counter and wipes her hand over the glass display case. The front of the display's been shattered but the wands are still in place, propped up on gold boxes. _Strange._

"So, what d'you reckon happened?"

"Typical break and enter." Kingsley points from the tattered front display to the carpet of loose paperwork near the front door. "They made a mess of it. No more than two though."

"They'd want to make quick work of it. Go undetected."

"Probably in the dead of the night."

Tonks takes another step towards the shelves of boxed wands. There's a shattered lantern and clear drag marks etched against the floor. "Protection spell probably tripped and woke him."

She takes another step and her boots crunch on glass.

"He'd have had time to get out here before the Death Eater's could force their way inside. Even with minimal spell security it would have taken them a few minutes."

Tonks looks a Kingsley, her lips strangled between a smile and a grimace. "So how much of this exactly is going in your report?"

"Only the parts that leave out suspected Death Eater involvement."

"Hey Kingsley, look at this. Ollivander wasn't going anywhere." Tonks points at a disturbed bunch of dust on the closest shelf and four long scratches etched into the wood. She run her fingernails along them, unsurprised to find that they match. "This was a struggle."

"Whoever grabbed him . . . well, they definitely weren't friends."

"Do you think he knew them?"

"The man once told me he remembered every wand he ever sold."

"So, yes?"

"Probably. And that doesn't bode well for him. If he knows who his captors are it means it's less likely that we'll see him alive again."

"What would they want with him anyway? All his stuff is here, his workshop, the _wands_." She turns in a circle between the shelves. "Not even one of them disturbed."

"What're you thinking?"

"I'm just looking at this place, knowing you've got access to all this magic, and you just leave it? They didn't even take the time to stuff a couple boxes into their pockets?"

"Maybe they were in a hurry?"

"They took enough time to smash up the front. Make it look real good for whoever found the place the next morning."

Kingsley stands by the money drawer, leafing through the last of the sales records.

Tonks explores the back room where a sharp black desk is nestled under a large hanging lamp, illuminating a quiet work station. There's a cored wand propped up in a clamp and a thin wire of unicorn hair laid across the table. _He was working._

"Tonks?" Kingsey calls from the front.

She looks up. "Yeah?"

"Have you heard from your father at all?" he asks, beside her suddenly, handing over half a stack of parchment. She begins skimming the sales records with him. No one out of the ordinary. No suspicious transactions. In fact, Ollivander didn't sell one wand the day he went missing.

"Not since those first couple of letters," she says, worrying her lip as she reads. "He did say it could be some time between them, though. Mum's not worried." Tonks looks around at Kingsley after a minute, startled by his silence. "What is it?"

He's no longer reading, just staring at the wall of wand fillers: unicorn hair, phoenix tail feather, dragon heart string. "My wife's been called up by the Ministry."

"She's Muggleborn?"

"Yes."

Tonks looks at him in disbelief, wondering why he waited so long. "What are you going to do?"

"I won't send her on the run. Not alone."

"But you can't bring her in. She'll be locked up like all the others."

Kingsley looks right at her and in his eyes there's a new kind of fight. "None of them should be locked up."

"What are you saying, King?"

"I have to get them out of there."

"But your job—"

"Is not what I signed on for. And I won't keep helping this new regime grow. Remember what I said about fighting back?"

Tonks nods, the papers slipping from her hand and scattering across the desk. "It's time, isn't it?"

"You don't have to do this, you know. I know you and Remus are just starting out and—"

She waves him off. "Remus and I can get by. I've been expecting something like this for a while, whether it was some new werewolf legislation or being let go after the wedding, so I've been saving up. Planning."

Kingsley nods. "The next batch of Muggle-borns will be gathered at the end of next week. Trials to begin the Monday after."

Tonks gasps a little, revealing her shock. "They're locking them up beforehand this time?"

"I think word of the trial is just a formality. That's why it has to be now. Results are fixed; they don't even have a chance to get off." His words are clipped, his thoughts filtering faster than he can speak.

"What are you thinking?"

"We go in on the weekend, when security is at a minimum. Get the people out and burn the registry room to the ground. No more registry, no more Muggle-born collection."

Tonks lets out a heavy breath. The sound means a lot of things, but none so much as the relief she feels somewhere deep inside. "This sounds like a big job."

"It will be," Kingsley tells her. "We'll need the whole Order on board. Think you're up to convincing Remus?"

Tonks manages a quick grin. "I think he could be persuaded."

"Good. That's good."

"This is the right thing, Kingsley."

"I know. That's also why it's the hardest."

"Well, it can't be any harder than fudging a report about a high-profile kidnapping and handing it over to said high-profile kidnappers so they can complete a performance review of our work. This is complete bollocks just so you know."

Kingsley offers her half a smile. "Shall I add that in?"

"Go ahead. I'll even sign it." Tonks wanders back through the shelves of wand boxes. "If only he left even one of these recording. He's got enough of them, you know. He could have spared a single box to make sure his shop was secure."

"Like most people, he probably didn't think he needed to until it was too late."

"Yeah, well, there's something said about being prepared." A flash of red catches her eye and she turns towards the closest wand box, hand outstretched. "Hey Kingsley, this looks like blood."

Her hands touch the box and at the same time her feet leave the ground. She's blasted down the aisle, colliding with the front counter in a move that leaves her winded and on her knees.

"Tonks!"

"M'alright," she croaks, looking up, one eye pinched against the throbbing in her skull. She can feel the hot trickle of blood down the side of her face. "He booby trapped his place? That explains why nothing's missing."

Kingsley crouches by her side, face close, inspecting, his wand summoning a handkerchief from Merlin knows where. He presses it to her skull and for a second the pain in blinding. "Wouldn't you leave traps if you had all these wands?"

"Yeah," Tonks groans, "probably. How bad is it anyway?"

Kingsley grimaces. "Can't tell yet. There's a lot of blood."

Tonks leans back, keeping the rush of blood in her hair and off of her face.

"Come on, up," Kingsley tells her, one hand under her arm as he tugs.

"Where're we going?"

"You're taking the rest of the day off. Is Remus at home?"

She shakes her head, then scowls when she can feel her heartbeat above her eye. "He was seeing Charlie today. Something about an old radio that Arthur's been tinkering with?"

He nods. They Apparate directly to the Burrow, side-along, Kingsley holding her up. The look on Remus' face when they barge through the kitchen door and he sees her, flashes so quickly from happiness to worry, that when it dissolves to complete and utter fury Tonks is almost speechless.

And she would have been. If it weren't for the string of curses tumbling from her lips as Molly and Kingsley usher into a chair.

Tonks cups her head as her back collides with the table and she fades in and out as the pain skyrockets. When she drops back into the conversation Molly's hands are prodding her head and Kingsley is speaking.

"I tried to get the bleeding under control on the way over," he tells Molly, who's taken over treating the injury. "Looks like it's clotting now."

"What happened?" Remus asks flashing into her peripheral. He looks like he wants to scoop her up and shake her or hug or maybe both, but he can't get near her with both Kingsley and Molly in the way. Charlie's there too, arguing with Bill over their worst injuries.

She hears something about Dragon Fire Rash before her head throbs again and she has to close her eyes.

"Work accident in the field," she hears Kingsley say.

"Dora!"

That gets her to open her eyes. "Remus, I'm fine," she sighs.

"You don't look fine."

"Because you're shouting. Just sit down a second."

"You're bleeding all over the place!"

"It looks worse than it is. Honest. Thank you, Molly." Tonks dabs her face with the soaked cloth Molly hands her. There's an acidic smell to it that makes her nose twitch but immediately her forehead starts to tingle and go numb.

"You know you're not supposed to be doing things like this. You promised!"

"I wasn't being reckless, Remus. It was an accident."

"That's why you were supposed to come out of the field!"

"I can't do that right now!"

"Dora, this is about your health, especially now. You can't risk it at the expense of your job!"

"I know that, Remus. I told you, it was an accident." She stands so suddenly that for a moment she thinks she's going to pass out. But the room stops spinning and when it does, she storms off, out the back door, slamming the screen in her wake.

"Oh, dear," Molly sighs, putting the bottle of Mr. Klean Quick Healer for Cuts &amp; Scraps down on the table.

"Dora!" Remus calls, making to go after her; his hands clench in frustration but his eyes bunch with worry. "Where are you going?"

"Just give her a second," Kingsley says. "Let her calm down."

Remus is almost at the back door when it swings open again, revealing a red-faced George, tailed by Fred. "Bloody hell! The whole thing! Those wankers destroyed the whole bloody thing!"

"Now what?" Charlie asks.

"Did you see Dora?" Remus asks.

"Out by the broom cupboard," Fred mumbles before George launches into a tirade.

"Those Ministry prats showed up and raided the entire shop. Confiscated half our merchandise! That's months and months of work. Poor Verity's shaking in her bones still."

Fred slams his hands down on the table. "What the hell those Death Eater's need with a bunch of trick wands I'll never know. If Volde—"

"Fred, no!" Molly wails.

"—mort."

It's too late though. As soon as the word leaves his throat the sound of a dozen harsh _pops_ fill the air, surrounding the Burrow just beyond the property line.

"Dora," Remus calls, voice panicked. He launches around the back of Bill's chair for the door. Kingsley, Charlie, and the twins are steps behind him.

* * *

Tonks stalks beside the broom cupboard, kicking at the overgrown, yellow weeds. Her head is pounding, there's a pulse just above her left eye, and she's starting to see spots in her vision, clouded by rage and pain.

If Remus can't trust that she knows better than to go running off into some dangerous, half-cocked, stupid—

She's startled out of her brooding by a pop and then a rank breath falls against her neck. She spins on her heel, shoulders slamming into the side of the broom cupboard, a pair of slitted yellow eyes fixed on her face.

"Well look who we got here."

Another sets of footsteps round the corner.

"Greyback, the perimeter is—"

Yellow eyes narrow and Greyback holds his hand up, silencing the young man behind him. "Go with the others, check the house."

With a nod of acknowledgement the young man—another wolf Tonks assumes—slinks away towards the house.

A swallow and Tonks pulls her wits about her. She can feel the long press of her wand in her pocket. Her breathing's steady, the rush of adrenaline pushing the pain from her head.

Greyback's watching her with what can only be described as quiet amusement. His gnarled, scarred face, twists up like tree roots around a mouth of pointed canines; his long nails dig into the wood of the broom shed beside her head, chipping away chunks. The smile that breaks across his face reminds her of a shark.

"My, my . . . let's see . . . Auror robes, the hair . . . I'd say we've got none other than—"

"Get away from her!"

Tonks looks around just as Remus slams into her with all the energy of a man possessed, but the way he catches her—around the waist—makes a cradle and she clings to him as he drags her back along the broom shed, positioning her body behind his.

"Lupin! Wondered where you ran off to once you left the pack. Heard you tied the knot. Decided to make an honest woman of her, did ya?"

"Leave, Greyback. You have no purpose here."

"Sorry, not until our little inspection's done. _Someone_ sad a bad word." He eyes Tonks, his nostrils flaring. "My . . . my, isn't this interesting." Yellow eyes flash, dark and lustful. "She's pregnant?"

Remus' stance betrays nothing besides the desire to protect her, but Greyback laughs. "I can smell it on her. This close to the moon. Ain't that grand."

Greyback's grin is positively feral and Tonks feels a weight drop into her stomach; for the first time in her life true fear bleeds into her system, born of the desire to protect this new life growing inside her.

She side-steps behind Remus and his arm comes back to rest against her hip, pulling her flush against his back. She's shielded by the width of his shoulders as he rises up to his full height, towering like a tree over her. Over every one. All six foot three of him.

Greyback takes a sloppy step towards them, like a lion playing with its food.

Another step.

He's not stopping, fueled by the desire to intimidate, emboldened by the Ministry goons waiting along the fence line.

It's not until Remus puts his wand against Greyback's throat that the werewolf actually stops, eyes turned up, taunting. "You don't want to do that, Lupin."

"You come near her and I'll kill you."

"There's an awful lot of witnesses here and a fancy little cell with your name on it if they have to take you in."

Remus' voice takes on a darkness Tonks has never heard before. "Take another step and we'll see."

"You'd really risk everything?" Greyback asks. "Your family?"

"To take you? Yes. Ministry protection or not."

"Better not miss then."

Remus digs his wand in. "I won't."

Greyback sneers, but his eyes twitch with nervous uncertainty. "You hide behind your wand, Lupin, like a good little wizard. But never forget what you are. What you become when the moon goes up." He wrenches away, lips curled in a growl that almost comes out as a laugh. "And don't you worry about your little wifey. You put part of yourself inside her, shook it up like a potions experiment. I'm as curious as anyone to see the pup that comes from that."

Remus' jaw tightens.

"Maybe you just wanted to start a pack of your own, huh? Something to challenge me when the Dark Lord rises and calls up his armies?"

"Is that what you think _He's_ going to let you do?" Remus says. "Run an army?"

"Watch it, Lupin, or we'll find a reason to come back and snatch your friends up."

Remus shakes his head. "You're a pet, Greyback. And you'll be disposed like one when _He's_ done with you."

There's darkness in those yellow eyes—just veiny, thin slits—as Greyback points towards Tonks. "But when he's done with the lot of you, my Master's promised me _her_."

* * *

Silence stretches across the Burrow's yard, even as the last of Greyback's posse Disapparate.

It isn't until Charlie's sighed a loud, "_Bloody fucking hell_," storming across the yard, that any of them move. He's sporting another black eye by the looks of things, a new bruise covering the one that just finished healing.

Fred and George help a disgruntled Bill off the ground as Kingsley sweeps his wand through the air, placing another protective enchantment on the property, repairing the damage done by the mass of people cutting through the barrier.

Before she can even think about helping, Remus turns her in his arms.

"Dora, you're okay? He didn't hurt you did he? Before I got here? I'm sorry, love. I'm so sorry." He's running his hands all over her: her face, her hips, around her front, fingers ghosting over her stomach protectively.

"The baby's fine, Remus," she tells him, knowing that after her, that's his second concern. "No harm done."

He lets out a shallow, shaky breath.

"Baby?" Charlie balks suddenly, his open mouth slowly curling into a grin. "Something you two were going to tell us before tall, dark and hairy showed up?"

Remus licks his lips but Tonks shrugs, hand falling to her stomach as half a dozen eyes fuse to the same spot, "Surprise?"

* * *

Molly is ecstatic about it; maybe even more enthused by the news than Tonks' own mother, which is saying a lot. In the aftermath of Greyback's visit, she's taken to cooking a full course dinner (it's how she deals with the stress Charlie tells them) and also takes it upon herself to feed Tonks until she's ready to bust.

"You're eating for two now, dear."

"I think I've actually eaten for five tonight, Molly. But thanks."

"I'll wrap the leftovers. You can take them home." She clasps her hands together. "Oh, a baby!"

Fred shakes his head from across the table, a wry grin on his lips. "You'd almost think she never had one before."


	32. Chapter 32

**A/N: Next chapter: short and (not so) sweet. But necessary to move the plot along . . . Why do I do this to myself? *all the feels* Anywho, enjoy. I'm off to the movies to watch some people get eaten by dinosaurs to help deal with all the emotional baggage that is the Remus/Tonks relationship in my head.**

**Next chapter should be a doozy . . . my fingers are already twitching with arthritic anticipation!**

* * *

Tonks is sprawled out on their bed some days later, quill tip in her mouth, preparing her half of the report on the disappearance of Ollivander when Remus sneaks up on her, grabbing her around the waist.

She squeals, lidding her ink bottle and rolling into his grasp as he blows a raspberry across her stomach.

"Remus, don't! You'll make me pee." She laughs, pushing him away, struggling off the bed and to the bathroom, cheeks flushed.

"Sorry, love," he says when she returns to the bed several minutes later, looking slightly less frazzled, though her cheeks still have that adorable pink tint to them. It matches her hair this morning, an airy kind of flowery pink, twisted in loose curls beside her ears, just long enough to brush her shoulders.

"It's okay." Tonks stands on her toes to kiss him. Biting her lip as she pulls away, eyes a shade darker than they were a second ago, she reaches around Remus' waist to gather her papers, fingers skimming his thighs with purpose. "It happens when I sneeze now, too. This kid's sitting right on my bladder."

"A Marauder already." Remus grins. "How big is he this week?"

"About the size of a lemon, give or take a few fingers."

"Huh," Remus says, fingers trailing a path across her stomach, eyes glazed over like he can't quite comprehend this child growing inside her. Like he doesn't believe it's real. Then he shakes his head and the daze is replaced with a toothy smile. "Speaking of lemons, how do you want your tea? Milk and sugar?"

"Let's do honey," Tonks says craving the sweetness.

"Well then, breakfast's just about ready. How's the report coming?"

Tonks piles the papers into her work bag and slings it over her shoulder, heading for the door. "This is the biggest load of bollocks I've ever written."

"Sounds like the Ministry right about now."

She throws a cheeky grin over her shoulder. "Should float along nicely then, huh?"

Remus squeezes out the door beside her and leads her down to the kitchen. She frowns when she gets there, staring at her plate.

"Remus, what is this?"

"Kale. Molly says it's important to eat well. I'm increasing your intake of greens."

"Greens?"

"Yes, they're high in calcium, have lots of vitamins. Pretty much brimming with everything that's good for you and the baby right now."

"There's a lot of things that are good for the baby that don't involve me eating things that grow in the flower garden."

"You won't even be able to taste it when it's mixed in with the eggs."

"But I'll _know_ it's there."

"Humor me, will you? Just for now."

Tonks grimaces at the shrivelled leaf and casts a side-eye glance at him, reducing Remus to a fit of laughter. For a solitary moment she seriously considers hexing him; him and his adorable little snicker.

He sobers and she straightens up, still eyeing the kale with all the enthusiasm of a fifth year preparing for OWLS.

Remus sighs. "You know that lasagna you ate at the Burrow was chocked full of spinach, right?"

"Under layers of cheese and meat and everything else that is good about Molly's cooking. Plus, she didn't tell me it was in there."

"Noted. I'll have to be more stealthy with this health-food diet."

Tonks rolls her eyes and pops a couple slices of bread into the toaster as Remus prepares what is surely going to be something she'll have to choke down. She looks at herself in the reflection of the stainless steel covering the toaster and scrunches up her face, watching the shift in her hips come and go.

"Something interesting in the toaster this morning, love?"

She sticks her tongue out at him and he crooks an eyebrow teasingly.

"It's strange having curves I can't morph away," she offers by way of explanation.

Remus comes up behind her then, hands on her belly. He roams her waist then her hips, giving her ass a perfunctory squeeze, stoking something deep inside her. "I _like_ these curves."

"Mmm, I'm sure you do."

She turns in his arms and wraps her hands around his waist, feeling breathless with need. She has a wicked appetite for sex at this point in the pregnancy and more energy than she knows what to do with sometimes. All the time. It keeps her up at night and makes her restless during the day.

She tugs on his hands, leading him to the oversized recliner in the den. The toast pops but the sound does little to distract from her immediate goal—it's an insatiable kind of fire she's fighting.

"Dora, you have to eat something."

"I will."

"This isn't exactly—"

She shoves him back into the chair. He lands with an _oomph_ before she crawls onto his lap, positioning his hands at her hips.

"This isn't what?" She grinds against him, looking for friction.

He groans. "You don't have time for this."

"I'll make time. Do you know what it's like for me all day at work, feeling like this?"

He hums against her lips as she bends and kisses him, making quick work of her shirt and the fly on his pants.

"I imagine it would be rather distracting. Kind of like those dreams you've been having?"

"Yes the ones that wake me up in the middle of the night and I have to wake you to finish what you've started in the dream."

He chuckles breathily. "Dream me is having his wicked way with you."

"Which is why I'm left hot and bothered all day."

"How simply terrible," Remus says, palming her breasts, a grin pulling his lips.

She sits back on his knees, head tipped, lip caught between her teeth and moans the kind of wanton, sexy moan that has him straining against his pants in no time.

Without any more preamble she frees him from his knickers and slides her own down her hips and over her knees. Shifting up, with his hands on her ass, she bears down on his length, straddling his thighs, letting him fill her to completion. She's already wet and he's so deliciously hard that with a few thrusts, a strangled moan, and twist of his fingers against her tight bundle of nerves she comes undone.

He follows moments later as she's convulsing around him.

"You good now?" he asks when they've caught their breath. Tonks is hastily righting her clothes, slipping back into things, and fixing her sex-mussed hair.

She bites her lip. "Mmm, yes, I think." She buttons her pants, settling back on his lap.

"You sure?"

"I'll have to be. Work stuff, you know."

She slips off his knees and backs away, contemplating tearing her clothes of again and screwing him into the cushions.

"You could owl in sick and we could spend the rest of the day in bed?"

"Don't think I haven't thought about it." She bites her lips as she looks at him, but turns away, throwing her hands up. "Ugh, these hormones are going to kill me."

He stands to kiss her goodbye but she rushes into the hall. "Don't even come near me or I'll never leave. Between dream you and real you I'm going to be terribly frustrated today as it is."

"I'm sorry, love. Though really I can't complain. I—"

She's out the door and off to work before he can finish what he's about to say and the thought of his sexually frustrated wife yelling at interns and demanding pots of steaming tea in her cubicle has him smirking for the rest of the morning.

* * *

It's been all of an hour and Tonks is already chewing on the end of her quill, feet tapping under her desk as she tries to think about paper work and memos and not about the fire aching low in her belly. She has no idea where this unbearable heat keeps coming from and is already considering making a quick visit home on her lunch break to try and tamp it down again.

"Tonks," Kingsley says suddenly, head bent over her cubicle wall, pushing some terribly distracting thoughts involving Remus and some melted chocolate (yes she's craving chocolate and pickles as per the new usual) from her mind, "can I have a word?"

"Ah, _bollocks_," she mumbles, looking over her half-finished report. It's late, and the new boss is probably on his ass. She darts out of her cubicle, following Kingsley down the hall and into the interview wing. The one they haven't had to use for weeks.

"What're we doing here?" she asks when he stops and faces her, lips parted in an unusual frown. One that looks positively, achingly torn.

Movement distracts her and she turns her focus across the hall, towards the interrogation cell. A woman's being led out by a pair of security guards, long black hair lank against her face, eyes red-rimmed, cheek bones hauntingly high.

The door swings open and standing there—

"Mum?" she says.

Andromeda pulls the handkerchief away from her nose and looks her daughter in the face, struggling with everything she is, every ounce of Black blood she has to hold her shoulders back. To keep from caving in. But when she looks at Tonks all she can see is Ted and her eyes fill with tears again.

"Oh, Dora," she whispers; she breaks and Tonks slams her hands to her mouth.

"No," she says backing into Kingsley, his broad chest snapping the air from her lungs like she's just been hurled from an immeasurable height. "No, no, _no_."

Kingsley's hands are on her shoulder, squeezing gently, that deep timber voice telling her things, explaining, apologizing. _Found his body in the woods. Dark mark._ _Nothing we could do._

"Nothing we could do?" she repeats, so low she wonders if she's even really said it.

"I'm so sorry, Tonks," Kingsley says, offering her a pat on the arm and that's enough to do her in. That and the look of complete devastation on her mother's face, like their whole world has just been blown apart.

Tonks feels like a bomb's gone off in her head and the only recourse is to dive for cover. Roll and duck and cower away from the blow.

She Apparates out of the Ministry, head in her hands, and lands in her flat. The one she abandoned for the house by the ocean with Remus.

It's the first place that comes to mind when she thinks about escape. A hideout. Somewhere no one will find her. Somewhere no one will care enough to look.

The place looks like a nightmare and she feels very much like she's walking through one.

Her lease isn't up yet—paid out until the end of the year—and the rooms look the way it did when her and Remus left: thread bare and empty except for some dilapidated curtains, miscellaneous paperwork, and a cupboard full of crockery that wouldn't fit into the kitchen at the house.

Out of pure, wretched instinct she blasts the neon curtains with her wand, moth holes eating into the fabric in hungry flames. She whips the papers from the counter and sets fire to them as well, watching the ashes flutter like butterflies. The crockery in the kitchen is reduced to rubble, crunching under her boots until there's just dust and shards and little ticks against the floor as she rips the remaining photos from the wall, stupid things really—animals and sunsets—frames shattering against the ground, faces scattering from the pictures.

She kicks the rubbish across the room, her legs shaking beneath her, her knees giving way, until she's crawling on her hands, her fingers too numb to grip her wand. She crumbles against the wall, cradling her head in her hands, her palms pressed into her eyes, attempting to stop the slew of tears, but she can't. It's too heavy; she's too heavy.

Her lungs contract tight and slick against her ribs and she doesn't know how to get the air back into them . . . She. Can't. _Breathe_.

But then she does, a ragged gasp forcing its way down her throat and back out. Panic. Dread. Loss. Everything bubbles up, crushing her from the inside. Is it possible to drown this way?

Is it?

Can she?

Because she certainly can't do this again.

Sirius. Chavers. Mad-Eye. And her . . . _her dad_.

The new grandfather who'll never get to meet his grandson: his namesake. The husband and father. The proud Hufflepuff.

He's just gone.

He's _. . ._

Her breath comes thick again, chunky and choking.

The air around her seems to swallow her up.

She tries to focus.

To make it count.

Inhale.

Exhale.

It burns to breathe.

It hurts to live.

But _breathe_ dammit!

Inhale.

Exhale.

And she does. But time seems to slow, almost stop really; suspended in a shallow pool of pain.

The world goes on.

And she's just frozen.

Wondering why?

Wondering how?

How does the world go on when this has happened?

How does it function without him?

And that's the truth of it really: how does she possibly go on when she'll never see her dad again?

She can't.

But she does, curled in a ball on the floor, one breath at a time.

"Nymphadora!" The front door rattles sometime later. Insistently. Annoyingly against the pounding behind her eyes.

She doesn't look up, but somewhere her brain registers that she had the common sense to charm herself in. _That's good_, she supposes_, in this mess she still has some sense about her_. Maybe she's deserving of the title Auror after all. Maybe it's just sense memory, driven by fear, catalyzed by paranoia, because she sure as hell doesn't remember casting the charms. She doesn't even remember how she got here.

A crushing blow to the door registers in the depths of her mind: a boot, she thinks, the fog clearing enough for that conclusion.

Then her mind's swallowed by the grief again. Her head feels heavy, fuzzy, like the world's spinning backwards with her hanging onto the edges, fingers slipping.

"Dora!" The voice on the other side of the door is panicked. And then there's the shudder of wood as Remus forces it open with an Impendimenta Jinx.

It's not very subtle in a building full of Muggles. In fact, it's quite the opposite, but she doesn't care. He drops to the floor and pulls her to his chest, enveloping her in a hug that squeezes the air from her lungs, but she doesn't care that he grips her so hard he crushes her; the air just burns anyway.

They rock, her curled against his chest, holding onto him by a few loose fingers threaded into his jumper. There'll be holes when they're through. He'll need a patch job. But he's gotten so very good at patch jobs over the years, and right now he feels like the only thing holding her together, the only thing stopping her from unraveling into a million broken pieces.

"Kingsley sent a Patronus," he whispers into her hair, his lips pressed right to her skull. "Said you just disappeared. I was so worried when you didn't come home."

His hands run up and down her spine, coaxing her back to some semblance of life, but she doesn't respond, just sobs against his jumper.

"My sweet, Dora," he murmurs. "I'm so, _so_ sorry."

"Take me home, Remus," she asks a little while later, when the tears have dried. When her voice has returned.

* * *

When they appear before the Old Victorian—her parent's house, _her Mum's house_—whitewashed with age and held up by magic, her heart clenches with how much she loves this man beside her.

She had asked him for _home_. And he brought her exactly where she meant.

The front door opens and a sallow faced Andromeda is down the stairs, crushing her daughter in a hug to rival all other hugs before ushering them inside.

"I'm sorry, Mum," Tonks manages. "I just couldn't . . . not at the Ministry."

"You're just like your father," Andromeda says matter-of-factly, though her voice is thick. "Stubborn, pig-headed, and you like to be alone when you're upset."

Tonks clings to her.

"Just promise me you won't do anything rash," she says. "I can't lose you both. And let that husband of yours take care of you."

"Can we stay here for a bit, Mum?"

"I'd like that," Andromeda says. "I'll make up your bedroom."

"Let me do that, Andromeda," Remus says, his hand lingering on her shoulder.

She nods, folding her hand through Tonks' hair, limp, flat and muddy brown. She sighs, kissing the side of her head. There're tears gathered along her lids when she pulls away, but she blinks them back, that Black chin held high. "I'll make us some tea."

* * *

The funeral is small; just a gathering of their closest friends. Any that can spare their Order posts or an hour from the Ministry.

They can't make a big thing out of it. Not now that the Ministry and the Death Eaters are so entwined.

It's less than her father deserves, Tonks thinks. She watches as the coffin is lowered six feet down with a hover charm. Kingsley does the honours. Pride holds her mother up.

Remus' hand never leaves hers, even when she's shaking hard enough to throw him off. No, he simply clings tighter.

Less than her father deserves, but so much more than Sirius had, then Mad-Eye, and they too, were great men.

"Do you want to go home, love?" Remus asks when it's done.

She can't bring herself to think about it like that: _done. _Her father can't just be done. But she nods her head—her eyes hurt—and whispers, "Please."

* * *

The cottage feels stuffy even as Remus guides her onto the sofa by the window. The breeze is clean and salty and should calm her, but the only thing Tonks can feel is an overwhelming pressure that pulses in her chest.

"What can I get you, love?"

She looks up at him, opening her eyes. He's been so good to her these past couple days, reminding her to eat when she hasn't felt up to it (_for Teddy, love_), coaxing her into her Auror robes when she wants to rip them to shreds, and just being there to hold her when she smashes the crockery in the sink.

And though he's already given her so much, her eyes are pleading.

"What is it, Dora?" He kneels by her side, hand against her cheek. "Anything."

"We have to save the rest of them, Remus. The other Muggle-borns trapped in the Ministry."

"Dora, I—"

She clings to his collar like it's the only thing keeping her head above water. "Kingsley has a plan," she tells him. "He needs the Order."

And in that moment, with her looking so despondent, eyes so wide they gleam like glass, he'd promise her anything. Even Voldemort's head on a stick if she asked.


	33. Chapter 33

The mood during the next Order meeting is equals parts somber and wild with anticipation, and Tonks can't shake the jumpy feeling inside her chest. It bubbles up, fluttering in time with her heart beat, before swallowing back down into her stomach. The loss of her father is a blow to them all, but the plan to rescue the entrapped Muggle-borns in the basement of the Ministry has them all jittering with adrenaline. That's what it is . . . _adrenaline_.

Though in Tonks' case it may very well just be another case of morning (night) sickness. Or nerves maybe. She's a liar if she says she isn't just the tiniest bit worried about everything.

But with a plan finally laid out and a failsafe drawn up, the only thing left to do is for the Ministry members to run their alibis.

So _deep breath_ . . . deep breath and swallow down the bile.

Tonks does just that as she sits in the Burrow's living room, a glass of water and a handful of saltines in her lap. She's feeling nauseous, grateful for Molly's sympathies, but if she has to look at one more schematic she's going to hurl crackers across the Weasley's sofa.

Remus sits by her side, fingers tracing her spine in that way that makes her skin twitch, that way that makes her want to lean into him. It's pleasantly distracting for the moment so she closes her eyes and focuses on that feeling: warmth.

"Dora?"

"Hmm?"

"You're absolutely sure this is what you want? Your job—"

Her hand on his wrist stills him and she opens a lazy eye, unsurprised to find that the room is spinning a bit.

"Kingsley's going to let float that I'm expecting and that the pregnancy isn't going well. As far as the Ministry's concerned I'll be off on leave. He doesn't want all of us suspected for this. It also means I can go back. Once Teddy comes. I can go back to work and get eyes where we need them."

Remus opens his mouth, interrupted by the sound of footsteps.

"Tonks?"

"Out here," she calls.

Charlie pops around the corner, holding out a steaming mug of the foulest smelling gunk she's ever encountered.

"Charlie—Merlin, I'm going to be sick. What are you doing with that?"

"Mum said that's what it's for. To settle your stomach." He holds it out to her, face screwed up, like he's trying not to hurl. "Go on. Take it."

"No way. That'll actually make me puke."

"Mum swore by this stuff when she was pregnant with the twins. It's got gingerfairy root in it and some other junk."

"Yeah, it's the other junk I'm worried about. Smells like an old trainer."

"Oh, go on."

"Nope."

"Don't be difficult."

"I'm not. This is me saving us all a lot of pain and mess. Trust me; this baby is going to fire that right back out of me."

"Tonks!"

"Charlie, I'm serious, take one more step—"

"Give it here," Remus finally sighs.

Charlie looks relieved as he hands over the mug and slinks away. Tonks looks murderous.

"Remus, don't you dare."

"It really is good for you, love. The gingerfairy plant is used in all kinds of potions."

"I don't care."

"Come on, head back. Plug your nose. It'll be over before you know it."

"How about _no_ and I'll just stick to my water."

"Water is all well and good but there are no vitamins in it. No nutrients. You're emptying yourself of all of that every time you get sick. Now, am I going to have to pin you down, or are we going to do this the easy way?"

After a beat, measured only in the length of her glare, Tonks crawls towards him, eyes hardened to a dark, _dark_ blue: fiery in their cool depths. "You're lucky I'm not in the mood to be pinned down right now."

She takes the mug from his hand and tips it back against her mouth, holding her breath. Five great gulps drains the contents and she runs the back of her hand across her lips, letting out a disgusted kind of sigh.

Immediately she feels the effects of the gingerfairy root. It collects in her stomach and with a tingling kind of heat, eats away at the nausea, leaving her pleasantly relaxed. Less anxious. More level-headed.

"Better?" Remus asks.

She glares at him under a shock of pink bangs. "No," she declares.

"What is it?"

She gives a great huff that has her sinking into the sofa cushions and mutters, "Now I'm in the mood to be pinned down and we have to go discuss strategy."

Remus laughs and kisses her. He pulls away, tasting the gunk on his lips. "That really is awful."

Tonks pulls him back in, one hand cupped around the back of his neck, the other steadied on his chest, and kisses him hard.

He hums as she pulls her lips just out of reach. "We'll finish this later?" he says.

Tonks only smirks then, crawling across him to get off the sofa. If she lets her weight fall against his lap before she stands, if she lets her hips roll back into his, well, she always was a clumsy girl. She stands and holds her hand out to him; his eyes—pupils blown wide—trail her closely. "Let's go talk strategy."

"Yes," he says, "let's."

Dinner is just winding down in the kitchen when they return to their seats, Tonks feeling one hundred percent better. Maybe a little distracted right now with Remus' hand running up and down her thigh, knuckles kneading her skin below the table, but that she can deal with.

That she can ignore, especially when they're talking infiltration and supply collection.

"What are you going to do?" Charlie is asking her. "Morph? Can you even hold it for that long right now?"

"I can hold a morph," she replies. "I just have to be picky about how I look." There's no way she's fitting this body—this baby—into a size two frame. Teddy's been fairly good with the whole morphing thing lately, but he still owns the space currently below her ribs and changing that up just doesn't go very well.

Remus' fingers on her leg become less of a distraction and more of a comfort.

"Okay, well maybe for tomorrow that's fine. But Saturday will be different," Charlie points out. "It'll be a big job. A long one."

"I'll make it work."

"But I'm hoping she won't have to." Kingsley comes around the table, a cloak rolled up under his arm—one that's all too familiar. He holds it out to her. "Mad-eye left you this. I've been meaning to get it back to you, but I was using it to keep tabs on the situation with the Muggle-borns."

Tonks takes the cloak and furls the liquid fabric through her hand. "His invisibility cloak?"

"They found his will when they went through his house. It took a while to make its way down the chain of command. With this no one should know you're inside the Ministry at all."

Tonks smiles to herself. Even from the grave Mad-Eye was still helping her out. _Constant vigilance_.

* * *

The next morning Kingsley drops by her cubicle first thing, head bent low as he pretends to show her something in the Prophet. "I'm going to steal a supply of Polyjuice from the Poisons and Potions division. Do you think you're up for this?"

"It's just a few hairs, right?"

"Right."

"Yeah, no problem."

"If anything goes wrong—"

"Blame it on the pregnancy brain?"

Kingsley fights the smirk. "If you can't talk your way out of it, just get out and we'll do damage control later."

"Sounds like fun."

"Tonks—"

"I know, I know, Kingsley. What you think this is? My first stealth mission?"

"If I remember correctly, you almost failed stealth and tracking."

"Well, good thing today doesn't involve a whole lot of stealth. Actually, the way I see it, it's going to be right up my alley."

"So you've figured out how you're gunna go about it then?"

"Yes, I'm thinking a more direct, _in their face_ kind of approach is the way to go."

"Just be careful."

Tonks grabs a stack of papers from her desk and climbs out of her chair, a giddy smile on her face. "You should probably make yourself scarce. I'm about to stir the cauldron if you get my drift."

She waits ten minutes, giving Kingsley time to get down to the seventh floor before she knocks on Yaxley's office door. The fact that she's reporting to him now makes her want to punch something, preferably his face, and really give his smile a reason to be that twisted.

"Nymphadora," he greets when she's stepped just inside the door. He puts his quill down and rubs a hand along his jaw. "What can I do for you?"

She doesn't miss the way his eyes roam over her—Yaxley always had a thing for her, or at least, what she could do with her body. Ogles and stares and longing looks were nothing new in her world, but for once she actually needs to use that dizzying distraction to her advantage. So she plasters on her best fuck-you smile and walks right up beside him, playing the part of the dutiful, bimbo secretary.

"I need you to sign off on these work orders."

"Of course." It's a moment before either of them speaks. "I heard about your father: my condolences."

Her breath hitches in her throat at the comment, but she forces her hand to turn another page without incident, without shaking. She'd been prepared for this line of conversation. That Yaxley might use it to try and get a rise out of her.

She'd prepared herself to know that she could be standing face to face with one of her father's murderers. Who knew what the Death Eater's did when they put those masks on?

"Thank you."

"It was unfortunate, though just a sad reality of the times."

"Yes, I suppose."

He looks up at her under a mangy, dark brown fringe, a curious tilt to his brow. The hair falls across his eyes in stringy clumps as he tips his head. "I always took you for a Muggle-born supporter."

_Because I am_, you prat. She looks at him like she's considering this, like her blood really isn't boiling with hate for this man—this creature—who tortured her; who ordered her friends hurt; who showed up in the middle of Bill and Fleur's wedding and left a trail of destruction in his wake.

How could anyone ever call Remus a dark creature when people like Yaxley existed?

"I've re-evaluated a lot of what I think since . . . well, as of late."

"That's very wise."

She leans a little closer to the desk, flipping another page for him to sign; twisting her wrist just so, she manages to knock the ink onto his lap. Yaxley jumps from his chair with a sharp gasp.

"I'm _so_ sorry, sir. I'm just so clumsy sometimes. Here," she says, stepping behind him and running her hands under the collar of his silver robe, not giving him a chance to respond. "Let me."

She pulls it easily off his shoulders, whispers _Tergeo_, and begins siphoning the ink.

He's looking around the room, eyes slightly wild as he tries to get his bearings. Tonks runs her wand up his robe to siphon the few long hairs that cling to the top of his collar. When she's done she stows her wand in her pocket and steps up behind Yaxley.

He turns his head sharply towards her but she just holds it out for him to slip his arms back into. She takes a steadying breath now, because this is where she really needs to sell it.

She steps in between him and the desk, running her hands over his front, smoothing out the robe, pressing herself against him no matter how much it makes her skin crawl. She looks up at him under half-lidded eyes, letting him entertain the idea for the briefest moment. "Good as new," she whispers.

Yaxley swallows hard. Tonks can hear it she's so close.

She takes a step back, morphing her cheeks to flush—yeah, she can fake demure.

"Is it true you'll be leaving us?"

"For a time," she says, looking anywhere but at his face.

"Well, I should hope we see you return."

"Thank you, sir."

Whether it's a threat or a sincere comment, Tonks can't be bothered to figure out. She just gathers up her papers as quickly as she can and makes a quick exit, faking embarrassment.

When she's back in her cubicle she glances around before setting the papers in the trash and going straight for her wand.

"Prior Incantato," she mutters. A slew of ink erupts from her wand, covering her desk. She drags the hairs she collected from the puddle and stuffs them in one of the vials strung around her neck. One down, two more to go.

Rowle next. Then Peakes.

She stands and chances a look at the cubicle next to hers, the one that used to house Chavers. It's since been occupied by Rowle and as he lifts his mug to his lips again, Tonks does some quick wand work.

She's been charming his coffee mug to refill, so it's only a matter of time now.

He shifts in his seat, pulling his legs off his desk and placing them neatly on the floor.

_Uncomfortable_, are we?

A few more minutes go by, Tonks charms his mug again, and Rowle begins bouncing his leg.

With a smirk, Tonks takes her leave. She ducks around behind the lifts, to the closest loo and when she's sure she's alone, lets her body become something else. She's gone for an older fellow, one that could pull off a beer gut because Teddy is certainly not going to morph himself away.

When she's satisfied with the wisps of grey she sees reflected in the metal doorframe, Tonks pushes inside the gentlemen's loo and waits. She's looking in the mirror, making minor adjustments to her appearance—a wrinkle here, a hair there—when she notices her hands, still undoubtably feminine with her neon blue nail polish.

She stuffs them under the running water just as the door opens. It's been three minutes since she left Rowle, and it seems the coffee has finally done its job. He bee-lines for a stall. She tracks him through the mirror and waits until he's pushed open the grey hinged door before she turns. "Stupefy," she whispers under her breath. The jet of red hits him square between the shoulders and he slumps down against the wall of the stall, puddling on the floor with a heavy thump.

She plucks a couple hairs, really digging into his scalp, and tucks them into another vial strung around her neck. She locks the stall, leaves the loo, and by the time she rounds the corner is wearing her own face again.

Now for Peakes.

As noon arrives Tonks begins to worry that she hasn't seen Kingsley since this morning, but that either means he was successful and has left for the Burrow, or that he's been caught. She glances from office to office and decides there isn't enough movement for it to be the latter. If he'd been caught she would have heard.

The department begins to empty for lunch and Tonks sees her chance with Peakes: a bean-stalk kind of man, with large ears and beetle eyes that settle so far back in his head he always looks cross.

The Aurors begin to bunch up with the other employees heading for the lifts and she slips her wand from her pocket again, darting between cubicles. Crowds are what she needs. Crowds are what she wants for maximum effect.

Peakes cuts across the floor to side-step the crowd and passes the lift up for the stairwell. When he's just parallel with her on the other side of the room she hits him with a good stinging hex right near the eye. Her aim is perfection, even from this distance, and her hand digs back into her pocket to deposit her wand before anyone can suspect her.

By the time someone gets to Peakes, he's so swollen he's flailing around like a caged Cornish Pixie.

He knocks a group of elderly finance wizards down to the ground and pulls over a display with a mapped version of London pegged to the board, cursing and swearing.

His wand arm flies around unchecked and a few stray hexes ricochet off the lights and send sparks out over the department.

Tonks hangs around long enough to hear Yaxley tell security to escort Peakes to St. Mungo's. Then she bolts for a back exit. When she clambers up a set of stairs that empty near the Muggle Underground, she ducks into a small pub, slips into the woman's loo, and Apparates.

She's almost faster than the pair from the Ministry, but they beat her inside while she's ditching her Auror robes. She peels them off over her head and fixes the jumper underneath, hiking up her jeans.

With a shake of her head her hair turns almost black and she slips inside the sitting area and waits. It's twenty minutes before the elongated shadow falls across her chair and she looks up to find her Mum, all nervous smiles and fumbling fingers.

She digs into the pocket of her uniform and produces a small vial with three blonde hairs in it. "I did what you asked. I still don't know why you need this, Nymphadora."

Tonks gives a breath of relief, silently congratulating herself on a job well done before addressing her mother. "It's really better that you don't, Mum."

"I know you can't talk about it. I know. Just . . . be careful."

"Always am."

"Your father used to say that."

Tonks stands too quickly and her head swims as she crushes her mother in a hug, the vial pinched between her fingers. "Don't do that, Mum. I'll be fine."

"You better. And take care of my grandson in there."

"Promise," Tonks says, kissing her mother on the cheek before slipping the vial in the back pocket of her jeans and fishing the shrunken Auror robes out. She puts them on as soon as she's outside, shielded by the curving, brick alleyway.

She hastily makes her way back to the Ministry, sits down in her cubicle and silently counts down the hours until her shift ends.

Four more to go.

* * *

When she arrives at the Burrow after her shift the Polyjuice is already bubbling over the fire—a good sign. She deposits the vials of hair on the counter. "That gunna be enough?" she asks Kingsley, nodding to the potion.

"Hope so. It's all I could risk taking without them noticing the stock's been depleted."

"Run into any trouble?" she asks him.

He shakes his head. "Heard something about Peakes in St. Mungo's though." His knowing grin makes her chuckle.

"Huh," she says before bending to kiss the top of Remus' head. He's been assigned the position of potion stirrer while Molly makes dinner and looks content enough in his task. He responds by squeezing her hand though, letting her know that he's happy to have her back from the office. In one piece. No worse for the wear. They'll talk later, she knows, but right now the plan is coming together and she settles herself into a seat across the kitchen next to the window where she can watch the sun set.

From her spot she can see across the entire expanse of the yard—Crookshanks is chasing gnomes again—but she can also see everyone in the room. Fleur and Bill tucked away in their own corner of the world, looking pleasantly ignorant to everything else in the room.

Molly chops at a row of onions with vigor, mumbling under her breath. There's a lot of that these days. With every hand on that magical clock pointing at mortal peril, there's a lot to worry about.

Tonks imagines if every one of their faces were on there . . _. Harry's . . . Hermione's . . . wherever they are_ . . . . they'd all be pointing at the same thing now.

While Remus and Kingsley carry on there almost silent conversation over the potion, Arthur merely sighs from his end of the table and folds his arms over his chest, looking at the potion with mixed emotions—frustration, fear maybe; even a little relief.

Tonks feels the chair shift beside her, knowing it's not Remus by the scent of the aftershave. Charlie leans in close to her. "He'll be alright," he says, following Tonks' line of sight.

She gives him a gentle smile.

"He's just not used to feeling useless."

"I'm pretty sure I'll be hopping on that bandwagon soon."

"Heard you did a pretty good job today. Dad says the Auror department was in a flurry when Rowle turned up unconscious in the loo. But there was no word on a potential culprit."

"Then I'd say I did a great job."

"You fishing for another compliment?"

"Only when I deserve it."

"Fair enough. Three blokey Death Eater's who are none the wiser to their missing hair. I'd say you did a fantastic job, though how you managed to get anything out of that Yaxley fellow I'll never know. Dad says he's whip smart. Got a temper, too."

"Oh, I remember the temper. Trust me. But don't underestimate the power of feminine wiles. Yaxley may be a Death Eater, but he's still a man."

"Do I even want to know?"

Tonks spies Remus out of the corner of her eye, tucked in near the fire, stirring the cauldron with steady clockwise strokes. It's simmering. They'll have to keep it like that for the next few days.

"It's not that good of a story, really. He was pretty easy to manipulate."

"Well, you've always been good at that."

"What?"

"Getting what you want. You don't give up easily."

She glances at Remus again. He's looking at her now, his lips set in something that isn't quite a smile, but almost reverently appraising in the way his eyes soften his expression. A warm heat twists inside her stomach. "No," she says. "I don't."

"So, Remus is okay with you doing this?"

"We've talked about it some."

"That sounds like the conversation isn't quite settled."

Tonks sighs. "For him it's still a conversation. I know where I stand."

"He just wants you to be safe."

"I'm as safe as any of us are at this point."

Charlie sighs. "You shouldn't have to though. There should be enough of us with just me and Bill and Kingsley and Remus, but—"

"Charlie, I can hold my own, even if I am pregnant."

His lips twist further. "Dad can't, you know. Him and Mum, they need the work. He can't risk his job—"

"I know Charlie. It's okay. This isn't a trade-off. I want to be there. I want to help."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

He seems to settle a bit at that. "You know, I don't really want him involved anyway. When that snake got him a couple years ago I thought Mum was gunna go mental. I don't think she'll survive . . . if something were to happen . . . you know . . . they're just better together. They give each other a hard time sometimes, but I don't think either of them know how to be apart."

Tonks thinks of her own mother, puttering around the house now, cooking for two, making tea for two, even though there's just one.

The tears spring before she can control them.

Charlie looks like a dragon's just sat on the Burrow. "Oh, _bollocks_, Tonks, I'm sorry."

"No, no, it's okay. I'm just—"

"I'm such a prat. I wasn't even thinking. Sorry."

"Charlie Weasley, stop apologizing to me!" She swipes her hand across her face, attempting to rein in this bubble of emotion.

"Can't. Think it's engrained in me somewhere. Like my superior Quidditch skills. Did you hear Holyhead Harpies made it to regionals?"

"You were always good at changing the subject," Tonks laughs, the tracks on her cheeks already drying.

"Got me out of a few detentions."

"And me into a fair few, if I remember correctly."

Charlie scoffs, the almost laugh shaking his whole body. "You were always good at laying the blame."

"Only where it was deserved."

"Yeah, guess I should have seen the Auror in you then."

Tonks hums a little, the happy sound turning into a wistful sigh. "Ever wish we could go back to that?"

"Days spent playing around at Hogwarts? All the time."

* * *

By the time they return home that night Tonks is weary from talk and planning, but Remus has been usually quiet with her, so she staves off sleep in hopes that he'll tell her what's on his mind.

She putters around in the kitchen for a while, makes some tea, drinks some tea. The entire time Remus sits on the sofa, watching her from the corner of his eye.

Tonks gives up finally and collapses in the loveseat across from him, her head tipped, lips pursed. "I can literally feel your stare boring into me. Are you going to tell me what's wrong?"

Remus blinks a few times, his finger curling under his lips the way it does when he's really considering something. "I can't help but feel that this is some kind of revenge plot."

"What are you talking about?"

"You just lost your father, Dora."

She sits up a little straighter. His tone isn't quite accusing, but there's a question in there that he wants answered. "What does that have to do with any of this?"

"You tell me."

"I'm not doing this because he died, Remus. I'm doing this because it's the right thing to do."

"Alright."

"Alright?"

"I just want to make sure you're going into this level-headed. I know I'll never convince you to stay behind, but I can't in good conscious let my pregnant wife go into the Ministry, wand blazing, if she's not one hundred percent focused."

Tonks lets the tension coiled in her spine relax. "That's what all this nonsense is about?"

"It's not nonsense, Dora. Your safety has never been nonsense to me. Not since the first moment we met. If you still can't see that after all this—"

She's across the divide in three steps, four if she counts the one she takes to crawl into his lap. Her fingers brush his lips as she hushes him, one hand carding through his hair, the other moving from his lips to his forehead, tracing the skin on his face with almost touches. "I know, love. I know." She leans in to kiss him. It's gentle and honest and all the things she wants to say to him right now, all the assurances she wants to give him.

As they are drawn further into this war, all she knows is how important Remus is to her. How much he means. But all the words in the world aren't enough to tell him that so she lets her lips glide against his, his hands running up and down her arms, until she can't breathe, and then she clings to his neck while he takes her to bed.

* * *

The following day the remaining members of the Order are up before the sun.

Well, Remus is up. Tonks is still buried somewhere in their bed, hair sprawled out like a creeping kind of ivy, tucking its loose strands around fingers and shoulders and tufts of pillow.

Remus is careful where he puts his hands as he prods her awake. Careful not to jar her too harshly from her already disturbed sleep.

She groans when his palms find the bare skin of her back, pulling her out of sleep with warm touches. "Ugh, wars should be fought in the afternoon," she mumbles before attempting to roll over. She caught between him and a giant pillow.

Remus resists his urge to snicker against her cheek. "We'd lose the element of surprise then, love."

"Fine. But I'm not going anywhere until I've had some tea."

"Alright." Remus rises to find his way into the kitchen.

"And some toast."

"Okay."

He's on the stairs when he hears her thumping footsteps race to the bathroom. Apparently she won't be eating anything this morning after all. He turns on his heel and climbs back up the stairs.

* * *

For a moment when they arrive at the Burrow Tonks thinks she's Apparated to the wrong house.

"Mum, what're you doing here?"

"Molly invited me. Nice of you to tell me you're running an inside job on the Ministry."

"Mum it's not—"

"You're running a prison-break. Don't lie to me. It's exactly the kind of thing your father would have done."

Tonks whirls around to look at Molly, eyes imploring.

The Weasley matriarch simply shrugs. "It's better this way, dear. Trust me. The not knowing is what drives you to insanity."

Tonks concedes. She's not really in the mood to fight right now. "Fine, but she's not allowed in here while we get ready. I won't be able to concentrate."

"Oh, Nymphadora, really. It's as if—"

Tonks just rushes forward and crushes her Mother in a bruising hug. "Love you, Mum," she whispers and the last thing out of Andromeda is a crooked, trembling smile before she follows Molly from the room.

* * *

Within the hour Tonks is ladling out three half glasses of Polyjuice, starting on the fourth, when Kingsley's hand stays hers.

"Just the three," he says. "Top them up."

She bites her tongue, hearing an unsung order in his tone, and adds the hairs. She turns with the tray, distributing one to Remus, Charlie, and Bill.

"Good luck," she says as they swallow it down. Three glasses hit the table at exactly the same time as each of them stumble from the room to change.

Charlie cursing in the other room is enough to ground her. "That's not how it was supposed to go," she says, turning to Kingsley. "You and Charlie were both supposed to transform into Yaxley. You're never supposed to be in the same place together. If someone sees you—"

"They'll need someone to pin it on. It's easier this way. Focuses the blame and keeps it off the rest of the Order."

"Kingsley, you'll be a wanted man. They'll plaster your face on posters. You won't be able to walk down the street without someone calling the authorities."

"I know what this means, Tonks. Don't worry about that. You just remember to keep that cloak on."

"Why? Don't trust me and my morphing capabilities?"

"Let's just say I'm not leaving anything to chance. Plus Mad-Eye once told me that if anything ever happened to him I was supposed to look out for you: you know, keep you from hexing too many people, from letting that mouth of yours run away, train you up right."

"Sounds like a big job," she teases.

"I've had help. Molly and Remus seem to be good influences on you."

"Don't tell me you've gone soft, Kingsley."

His smile is telling and exceptionally sweet for the normally looming black man. "Only where certain parties are concerned."

"My pants don't fit!" Tonks looks around as Kingsley's booming laugh breaks up the intensity of the previous moment. Charlie—well, Yaxley—but Charlie stands there, grimacing down at his trousers.

Tonks gives her wand a flick and the waistline on his pants loosens a bit. "Better?" she asks.

"Not one word about my waist, Nymphadora."

"Say my name again and your waistline won't be the only thing cutting off your oxygen supply."

"Forgot you like to go right for the threatening of my manhood. How Remus has survived you this long I'd like to know."

"He's infinitely smarter than us all," Kingsley says.

"I don't doubt it." Charlie reaches around, adjusting his shirt before sliding the draping, silver cloak over his shoulders. "So, how do I look?" he asks, wearing Yaxley's smug grin.

Tonks folds her lips together tightly, waring with the emotion inside her. "I have a strange urge to poke you in the eye with my wand."

"Save it for the Ministry," Kingsley says, stepping between them to reach the counter. He takes the cauldron of Polyjuice out the back door and into the yard, setting fire to it in the back field. Eradicating all the evidence, just in case something should go terribly wrong today.

"You know, we're going to need a distraction if there's gunna be a mass exodus from the basement," she says.

Charlie nods. "Fred and George loaned me some of their new fireworks. Untraceable. Explode on impact. Should keep them busy for a while."

"And hopefully it'll be enough to burn down the registry room while they're at it," Kingsley adds, coming back in the door. "That'll leave the basement clear for you and me to infiltrate," he tells her.

She eyes Charlie. "You know that'll draw security right to you and Bill and Remus."

He just smiles. It looks exceedingly deranged on Yaxley, his mouth not wide enough to encompass the full width of the Weasley grin. "That's what we're hoping."

They're interrupted by a rough clear of a throat. Peakes stands at the other end of the hall, looking shy in his own skin. "Good enough?" Remus asks, doing a spin in Peakes' body for good measure.

Tonks opens her mouth, but then purses her lips. Charlie cuts in. "You look like a wanker."

Tonks nods in agreement. "Good enough."

Charlie pats her on the shoulder with Yaxley's big hand. "Bet Bill's got his head stuck in his robes. That Rowle fellow's kind of stocky."

He nudges past Remus who takes his spot beside Tonks. "You look worried."

"Just anxious."

"It's going to be fine, Dora. We'll do it right. For your dad and Sirius and Mad-Eye and everyone else we've lost because we deserve a win."

"You say things like that and I want to kiss you." She looks at him and his eyes are all wrong and the shape of his mouth and the even the furrow in his brow. It's all just _wrong_. "But I can't do it," she says. "Not while you're wearing that face."

"Yes, please don't. Even I'll have nightmares about it." Charlie's back with Bill, his mouth screwed up is some kind of twisted amusement.

Kingsley brings up the rear and nods. "It's time."


	34. Chapter 34

After collecting the necessary supplies, the group leaves the Burrow in a line, Apparating a safe distance from the Ministry under the cover of early morning darkness.

Tonks and Kingsley walk a little ahead as they make the two blocks towards the visitors entrance (less security on the weekends according to Arthur). Remus never lets her wander too far out of sight, even though he's engrossed in conversation with Bill about security charms.

Charlie brings up the rear, chewing on a bacon sandwich that he managed to pinch off the counter right before they left. He munches in silence, hoisting the heavy satchel of supplies over his left shoulder. It lets off a premature rumble and he halts for a second, the entire group frozen as they wait expectantly.

The fireworks let off a searing kind of sizzle before going dormant again.

"_Bollocks_," Charlie swears under his breath. "If I blow up before we get there, give Fred and George a kick for me, will you?"

"Not necessary. This is it," Kingsley says, ushering them behind a Muggle Hardware store. "Tonks and I will enter first. You three follow. Don't stop at security. They never do. It'll look suspicious otherwise. When you've set the distraction, circle back and meet us in the Atrium. I've reworked a Floo network to open in the Hogshead. We'll get the Muggle-borns out through there."

"Aberforth know about that?" Tonks asks, eyebrow quirked.

"I told him to expect some company."

Charlie nods. "Right, well, shall we just plaster on our best grimace and make our way upstairs then?"

Tonks turns suddenly to Remus, er, well, Peakes and he does something with his mouth that is so Remus-like, his lower lip jutting out and quirking with that boyish kind of smile, that he heart skips into her throat. Without any more hesitation (or thinking because if she thinks too much she won't), she grabs him hard around the collar, yanks him down to her level, closes her eyes and kisses him. It feels . . . weird. Different. Yes, _different_.

The moment is fleeting, a _see you later_, not a _goodbye, _so she's unsurprised when she feels him pull away first.

But when he brushes his lips against her forehead as a follow-up, the gesture is again, so Remus-like, that she settles and manages to look him right in the eye—those unfamiliar, dark eyes.

"I'll see you soon," he says, letting his hands brush her stomach once.

She resists the urge to run her hand along his cheek, because this isn't the time, or the place, and he just isn't _him_.

"Don't worry, Tonks," Charlie cuts in, before she's left breathless by the entire ordeal. "We'll take good care of him."

"You better," is all she says before slamming her lips shut because she can feel her emotions tumbling around inside her again and she doesn't want to break down right now. Right now would be terrible timing. Not to mention once she's under the invisibility cloak she'll bear a striking resemblance to Moaning Myrtle if she can't get the waterworks under control.

She swallows the thickness in her throat, gives Remus a wink, and slips Mad-Eye's old invisibility cloak over her head, throwing everything into sharp contrast.

* * *

Tonks shadows Kingsley as he makes his way through security. They weigh his wand at the entrance. She steps right through the barrier behind him, unhindered.

Forty seconds later she can hear Charlie enter with Remus and Bill. They march their way through security, cutting across the platform without even an acknowledging nod and head towards a side stairwell.

No one pays them a second glance: no one except Tonks.

She stares for so long that she almost misses getting in the lift when Kingsley hisses at her.

"How did you—"

"Didn't hear your footsteps," he says. He's staring at the buttons on the lift. "It's very strange. Not knowing where you are."

"Would you like me to make some more noise?"

Kingsley manages a grin as he hits the lowest floor on the panel. "As long as you manage to keep up that should be sufficient. You get lost where we're going and you might not find your way out again."

* * *

Remus is almost out of breath and decides that next time they're taking the lifts. He's had enough of the stairwell, and every little scrape of a shoe or groan seems to echo straight back down to the ground.

They are thirteen flights up already and still moving along the path marked for the Registry Room. When Bill turns at the end of the hall suddenly, clutching his ribs, Charlie narrowly misses his outstretched foot. He nods at the gold plated doors to their left with a gasping breath. "I'll keep watch. Fred said to set the charges three feet apart to avoid blowing them all at once."

Charlie nods and Remus follows him through the doors and into the room. It's a long narrow passage that opens into an amphitheatre, stacked with rows of twisted metal shelving, some of them so weighted down with books that it must being magic alone holding them up.

The walls are lit by torches with purple flame—ever burning fire—and podiums are set up at intervals where the scribes usually work, their quills laid down to dry, their ink bottles capped.

"To destroy all this work . . ." Remus trails off.

Charlie huffs as he looks around for a support pillar. "Think of all the lives it'll save, though."

Remus can't argue with that logic so he ignores the twisted feeling in his gut—he never thought he'd approve of burning books in any capacity—and follows Charlie between a row of benches to reach the first blast point.

It's a hollow vent grate, almost like a fireplace, just wide enough to fit one of the rockets in.

"This'll bring the whole wall down when it goes off."

Charlie looks up as he twists the bolts out of the vent cover. "Probably. Best make sure we're not around when it happens. Hand me one, would yah? Try not to knock it around too much. George said they loaded a little extra fire power into the tubes for our little expedition today."

Remus digs into the satchel, pulling out the narrow tube with both hands. There's a silver ribbon on the tip that reads: _Hazardous, keep away from open flame. Weasley Wizarding Wheezes takes no responsibility for loss of limb, hearing, or_ _crockery that may come in contact with our fireworks._

Well, he was definitely keeping these away from Dora, that's for sure.

A smaller red label taped to the side of the rocket flashes a warning as he passes the thing to Charlie. CAUTION: CONTAINS DRIED DRAGON SCALE.

Remus looks up to catch Charlie's grin. "These'll burn hot enough to turn this place to ash."

"You can't put dragon scale out with water while it burns."

"No, they'll need dragon saliva."

"And assuming the Ministry doesn't keep vats of that stored in a broom cupboard, how do they stop the whole bloody place from burning down?"

"Are you having second thoughts, Lupin?"

"No, I'd just prefer we not kill the hordes of Muggle-borns we're trying to rescue."

Charlie doesn't seem as concerned about the clean up as he does the initial job. "Well, they can let it burn itself out, or they'll need something infinitely hotter to extinguish the flame."

"What's burns hotter than dragon scale?"

"Fiendfyre."

"Oh."

"I never said it wasn't going to be dangerous." Charlie moves on to the next blast point, digging a roll of cord from his pocket. Remus follows, taking much more care with the satchel.

* * *

Tonks blinks and her eyes adjust to eerie darkness.

The basement of the Ministry is far below where the lifts end, deep enough for her ears to pop with the change in air pressure as she descends the rickety staircase that has been carved out of the rock wall.

The niceties of the Ministry are lost on this place. Just damp cold, dark looming walls, lit by precariously placed torches.

A cold dread seeps into her fingers the further down they climb, each flight leaving her body with a sick feeling. A clawing sensation that pulls at her skin, pulls the memory from her mind.

_It's almost as if . . . _

"They have Dementors guarding them," Tonks gasps as she peers over the ledge of the stairwell.

Kingsley nods.

"It's like . . . it's like . . ."

"Azkaban?"

"Yes."

They reach the bottom of the stairs and Kingsley ducks into the space beneath them, becoming a shadow himself.

Tonks takes less care since no one can see her, though she sticks closely to the walls, the effects of the Dementors already draining her.

"We'll have to deal with them first," Kingsley says. "No one's allowed a wand down here—Tonks?"

He must have heard her patter across the ground because he's up and tailing her towards the first row of guarded cells. What she sees is almost enough to make her insides clench. The wizards and witches locked behind bars are pale, some of the bleeding from wounds on their face or hands. Others cower in corners, pressed against family.

And still others who have been there longer are thin, wiry reflections of themselves, their robes dangling, droopy, like snow on trees.

"They're starving them," Tonks whispers, her chest tightening. Fear. Repulsion. Her hands run along the bars of the nearest cell. Kingsley is right behind her.

Eyes turn up at his presence. Not hers though. She's invisible to these people. But soon the eyes pitch forward, no longer drawn by Kingsley but by the hard _clack, clack_ that echoes from the depths.

A wizard, draped in black comes down the aisle. He has a long, pale, twisted face.

The men that flank him wear masks, similar to what she's seen on the Death Eater's. Perhaps he's starting up his own little band of followers.

"Who is that?" Tonks whispers against Kingsley's shoulder as the man approaches.

"Dolohov," Kingsley greets, nodding his head.

Tonks peers around Kingsley's arm, assessing. So this is the wizard that killed Molly's brothers. She's read files about him. Azkaban wasn't kind to him the way it was to Sirius. Dolohov retains none of the boyish charm or looks that he went into the prison with.

He looks like a ghost. Pale and haunted. A keeper of the dead.

Maybe that's why he's down here in the bowels of the Ministry, keeping watch.

"Since when are Auror's needed to guard the cells?" comes the dry slither of a voice.

"Since when does the Ministry keep magical people locked up?" Kingsley counters.

Dolohov waves dismissively. "Oh, but haven't you heard? These filth are not keepers of magic. They're thieves. Stolen and pilfered what is ours for their own use. To exploit it. To hurt us."

"You know that's not true," Kingsley says, his wand arm coming up by his side.

Dolohov sneers, turning his face into a nightmare, all harsh lines and black eyes in the dying light. "The Dark Lord has professed it, so it shall stand. But to what do we owe this pleasure. After all, it's not every day we get a visit from one of you."

"One of me?"

"Where is the rest of your band of rats? Or have we not managed to kill them all yet?"

"Why don't you tell me? Killing was always your specialty, wasn't it, Dolohov? You should be intimately familiar with our hooded friends by now. Does their shadow no longer bother you? Have they managed to suck enough of your soul that the emptiness assuages the loss?"

Tonks sidesteps out of the way as Kingsley and Dolohov begin to circle.

There's a light at the end of the block of cells that's different from the others. More like the ones above her cubicle. She ducks away from Kingsley, letting him busy Dolohov with nonsense and mockery.

As she approaches she finds an office, much like the one Yaxley has taken up in the Auror department. It's stacked floor to ceiling with wands. Crates and crates of them. Sweeping a glance over her shoulder, Tonks pockets as many as she can carry in one go.

They might only get one go.

Stepping light, she bends at the corner of the first cell and jams a wand beneath the door. She continues this way, left and right, until her pockets are considerably lighter and she can hear the quite stirring of a revolt behind her.

Kingsley is still at a stand-off with Dolohov, though now both their wands are drawn at chest height. He's still outnumbered by the men in the masks, though not for long she hopes.

Rolling her wand between her fingers, she takes a deep breath and then blasts the locks from the first set of doors.

The sound of metal exploding draws the eyes of the masked men and Tonks hits them with a pair of stunners. Kingsley must have thrown a shield charm between him and Dolohov because as soon as the Death Eater starts firing, his spells rebound and he's forced to duck behind a wall.

Tonks uses the distraction to flee down the aisle, shouting "Reducto!" in her wake.

Locks smash to the ground one at a time and with a swoop of his wand, Kingsley has the doors open and the floor is flooded with hundreds of mismatched footsteps. Frantic and dizzying, filling the dark corridors between walls, vying for freedom.

"Shacklebot!" Dolohov howls.

Tonks reaches out and grabs hold of Kingsley's robe. His hand locks on her arm for a brief moment, slipping against the cloak. "I'll keep him busy," he says. "Get them out."

He takes off in the opposite direction, back towards the office and Tonks catches a white shadow in the corner of her eye. Dolohov tracks Kingsley across the expanse of cells, firing spells that Kingsley ducks to avoid.

Tonks turns on her heel and races into the crowd of lost-looking wizards. She doesn't remove the cloak but hushes them with a pop from her wand. "Take the stairwell up as far as you can," she shouts. "Get to the Atrium. The green flames will get you to safety. Go. _Go._"

There's movement in the general direction of the stairs. Tonks waits until the last of the footsteps have left before she turns around to double check the cells.

There would be no coming back.

She tips her head into every room, sweeping behind every door before she knows she's alone. She peers towards the office, breath caught in the back of her throat, hoping for any sign of Kingsley.

She's about to give up when a dark shadow crosses the wall to the left of her.

She turns slow, feet rooted so hard that she almost trips as the burly form of Greyback slinks behind another cell.

She swallows the gasp that rushes up her throat, trapping it in the bowels of her stomach. Her hands fly to her mouth for good measure. He's already heard her. He knows someone's here.

He appears again, this time behind her and she twirls on the spot, wand drawn. He turns his head up, eyes trained right where she stands, nostrils flaring.

_He knows._

She breathes in through her nose—one shallow, steadying breath—and then she bolts, racing between the cell blocks towards the stairs.

* * *

Kingsley emerges in the Werewolf Capture Unit, Dolohov hot on his trail. He blasts a hole in the next door, launching himself through it and up the stairs to the reception wing for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures.

He tips a brochure board from the wall, scattering flyers, and Dolohov skids across the landing, losing his grip and going down against the circulation desk.

Kingsley takes the first door out of the room, emerging near the Atrium to the sound of thunder.

Hundreds of witches and wizards make their way across the room, overpowering security with borrowed wands, and pile into the Floo network.

Kingsley turns on his heel just as Dolohov emerges behind him, face pulled back in anger. "You'll go down for this, Shacklebot. Don't think I don't know your wife was on my list."

He takes a step and Kingsley takes one back, putting himself between Dolohov and the Muggle-borns. Dolohov fires but Kingsley blocks the hex easily.

His next step is staggered when the real Rowle walks out of the shadows to take up arms.

Dolohov smirks. "How many of them do you want to watch die today, Shacklebot?" He laughs a wicked, high pitched laugh as he fires a killing curse into the crowd.

Kingsley forgets his wand and lunges for Dolohov's throat.

* * *

Dementors swarm as Tonks fumbles in the darkness, the heavy-set clamber of Greyback closing in pounding in her ears.

Cloaks creep like darkness against the floor and she backs against a wall, wand up. If she does it he'll know exactly where she is, but the Dementors already do. They're not fooled by invisibility cloaks.

Dread leeches into her skin. Panic and pain and all things foul and nightmarish.

Either way she will fall, but she will not fall with the last of her happy memories ripped from her.

"Expecto Patronum," she shouts, mind swimming with images of light: waking up to Remus, his hands on her stomach, his warm smile nestled against her cheek. The werewolf erupts from her wand and takes on the masses at a sprint.

Through the pearly aftermath of the Patronus, Tonks can see those yellow slits reflected.

But the swarming shriek of the Dementors drown out the light and the noise, engulfing Greyback in dark confusion.

Tonks rushes the stairs, hands clawing against the wall to push herself forward, onward, harder, _faster_. She gets as far as the Potions and Poisons division before the hot, pursing growl is enough to jar her footsteps.

She slips into the first unlocked room, sucking in a deep breath and is overwhelmed by chocolate and peppermint. Everything smells like Remus.

* * *

"So, you decided on a name for the little tyke, yet? Cause Charlie's up there with the greats I hear."

Remus holds a rocket in place while Charlie secures it to a podium with a carefully tied knot. "We're naming him after her father actually."

Charlie's lips quirk at the corner and his voice softens. "Yeah, that's up there, too. Well, I guess I'll just have to wait for the next little Lupin to have my name cemented in history."

Remus tries not to choke on the feeling that rises up from his gut.

"Oh, come on, Remus; don't look at me like that. You're young. She's young. Clearly everything's working."

Remus tries not to blush at that. He's gotten used to Charlie's bluntness over the past couple months, though his quick tongue still throws him off center every now and then.

"Anyway," Charlie continues, "Tonks always said she wanted a big family."

"She did?"

"Well, she actually said she wanted my family. Tried to have me ousted one summer. Back when we were growing up, in school, we were inseparable. She's the kinda girl I would have grown up and married someday."

"And you're the kind of man she should have married."

"Nah," he laughs, "I'm all wrong for Tonks. She's exactly where she's supposed to be. I think even a Hippogriff could tell how deeply she's fallen for you."

Charlie pulls at the tie with his teeth, breaking off a length and securing the rocket.

"Plus, she's right. We'd kill each other. Like she'd literally feed me to one of my dragons."

Remus laughs before wandering into territory that he suspects may be filled with Devil's Snare. He wanders anyway, consumed with a curiosity that burns the back of his mind. "So, the feelings there . . . _are _there still feelings there?"

"Oh, there are definitely feelings there: just different ones. I crushed on her at school so hard and she just didn't seem to notice . . . or she didn't care at the time. She was just happy to have me as a friend. And I wanted her as a friend. As whatever she would let me be."

"I know the feeling."

"Things changed between us. I went off to tame dragons; she went off the fight the bad guys. Now when I look at her my heart still flutters, but it's the same way it does when I look at Ginny, all grown up and moving on without me."

"She doesn't mean to move on without you. She just has a hard time slowing down."

"Who're we talking about now?"

"A bit of both, maybe."

Charlie smirks. "Not getting all professor-y on me with a lesson, are you Lupin?"

"Well, you did just tell me that you're crushing on my wife."

"_Was_ crushing. Tense is very important in these kinds of conversations."

"Are you sure it's still just a _was_?"

"Trust me, Lupin; rejection does something to a person. Something you can't just walk back from. Only so many ways she could tell me no before I gave up."

Remus smiles, if only to himself. "Forgive me if my experience has been somewhat different."

Charlie gives him a long, appraising look before his lips quirk up. "Oh, trust me, I've heard all about it from Mum. You're worse than one of her soap operas. But I guess that's how you know it's real. And that's why I never, ever had a shot with her." He gives the last rocket a tug. "So you want to blow this thing to Hogwarts or should I?"

Remus lets him have the honours. "To old flames and to new ones?"

Charlie grins. "And to you naming your next kid after me." He snaps his wand and the edge of the rocket lights up. They just manage to duck for cover before the entire thing is exploding in a chain reaction, like a heard of rampaging dragons.

* * *

Kingsley has Dolohov pinned with body weight alone, rolling them just as Rowle fires his wand.

"Not me!" Dolohov screeches as a thundering explosion echoes overhead, chunks of plaster separating from the ceiling and raining down in trails of dust.

Kingsley brings his knee up into Dolohov's stomach, pushing him aside and scrambling away towards his wand.

"Go!" Dolohov croaks at Rowle. He wipes a line of blood from his lip as Rowle takes off after the noise.

Kingsley positions himself between the mass of people again and Dolohov smirks, his teeth stained red.

"Enough of this, Shacklebot. Let's finish this like gentlemen."

Kingsley takes a fighting stance as he raises his dueling arm up.

Dolohov whips a killing curse towards him, cackling as Kingsley launches himself behind a pillar.

* * *

The door smashes against the wall as Greyback plows into the room, his head snapping back and forth, nostrils tipped up, flaring under the bright lights.

Tonks ducks down beside a lab bench, still trying to catch her breath, shuffling along beneath the edge of the counter on the balls of her feet.

_First rule of stealth: don't let them hear your feet._

Plumes of potion smoke drift around her, filling her up as they bubble on kindled fires above her head.

The smell makes her mouth water with lust and desire and . . . _it's a love potion._

She recognizes the spirals as they slip around her, slinky and circular. Amortentia. The mother of all love potions. That's why she smells Remus. Chocolate and peppermint and his after shave.

She's not alone in her quite observance, the seductive scent catching her attention, filling her up like drink. Greyback waits by the door, head still tipped, taking in a lungful of air.

_What attracts him?_ Tonks wonders. The sharp tang of blood? The rotten stink of death? _Her?_

He smells her . . . yes, she can see it in the way he moves, rough and unsteady, his face twitching. He can smell her on everything. Everywhere.

She watches him flip the closest cauldron out of frustration and the gold liquid spills down the side of the table, reflecting in his eyes.

Tonks folds herself against the bench, knees drawn up to her chin—Greyback's blocking the only door in or out of the room. When her head falls back she notices the dark fold of cloud over the potion on the next table. Something about the richness of the cloud holds her attention and as she pushes herself to her feet she recognizes it. Steeping Aconite. The purple liquid in the hanging basin is so rich it's almost black.

Tonks slaps her hand against the table and behind her Greyback's gaze turns, his smile curled around his canines.

She gives him her own predatory grin, though it's all for her since he still can't see her.

He draws closer, fingers itching with anticipation, head leading the way as he sniffs, fighting for her scent—the real one—against the flurry of other sensations.

He's within range now, stalking like a lion.

She takes a step to the left and lets her heel slide around the corner of the table. His head ducks at the sound, and as soon as he turns to look she swings the basin, letting the hot flow of Aconite rush over his face.

A guttural cry escapes burning lips.

Greyback wrenches his hands up to clear the liquid away, screeching some untold agony as the flower concentrate burns and fuses and melts into his skin.

Tonks lets the basin swing again, knocking him back and escapes the room under a cacophony of piercing curses.

* * *

The fox shaped Patronus is already dissolving amongst the flurry exploding fireworks when Remus makes out Bill's warning.

_Company._

_They were about to have company._

Grabbing Charlie by the cloak sleeve he hauls him to his feet and they both sprint for the door, heads shielded from falling debris. The smoke is already thick and black, pouring out of the room behind them.

The wall blows apart beside Remus' head and he has to dodge another stunner, dropping to his knees. Charlie fires several spells back in the direction of the stairwell where Bill is dueling several wizards from security.

"How'd they get up here so fast?"

"Something must have tipped them off," Remus calls over bangs and whizzes coming out of the Registry Room. The hallway is almost completely filled with black smoke now and he ducks further away from the curling tentacles of haze as Bill and Charlie retreat.

If someone was already on to them it means they knew about the Muggle-borns. Dora. He had to get to Dora.

A wretched growl claws its way through the smoke and Remus sees the hard-edged face of Rowle step out of the smoke, features highlighted by black, making him looking like some kind of fallen angel.

"Intruders," Rowle screeches, finger trained on Charlie. He twirls his wand at their retreating forms and Bill stumbles, a dark patch of blood staining his pants. Charlie has him by the shoulders, grunting under the added weight as he dodges a red jet of light.

He turns enough to look at Remus. "Any bright ideas?"

"Just one, but it won't hold them for long." He twists and casts a complex charm at the wall to their right. A giant sprig of ivy crawls out between the bricks and begins scattering a complex plant web across the divide of the hallway, sealing them off from their pursuers.

"So, the Atrium?" Charlie asks, hoisting a groaning Bill higher on his shoulder.

Remus nods, slipping his arm under Bill's other shoulder. A violent, quaking explosion almost knocks them off their feet, and Remus staggers a bit, using the wall to steady himself.

The ivy wall behind them begins to smoke and the green skinned plant glows, turning from muted orange to bright, blinding red. Remus casts again and another wall begins to grow in its place.

"We'll circle back to the lifts," he says. "I don't think we'll make the stairs."

* * *

The Muggle-borns are almost gone by the time Tonks makes it back to the Atrium. The lift opens and she falls to her knees to avoid the purple flame of light that nearly misses Kingsley's head.

He's dueling madly with Dolohov, jets of light bouncing between them.

Crawling behind the fountain for cover, she hears the other lift open and watches a man stumble out. It's Charlie. She can tell because his red shock of hair is back, the Polyjuice starting to wear off.

Remus and Bill emerge just behind him, Bill limping.

She can't hear the exchange from where she sits, but as soon as the three of them are clear of Dolohov's curses, Remus pushes Bill and Charlie into the Floo. They disappear in green flame.

Tonks hurries back around the fountain, using the wall as support and cover.

"Remus," she says when she reaches him.

He spins, eyes searching wildly in the space between them. "Dora?"

She grabs his wrist and yanks him behind a pillar before throwing the cloak over them both. They're feet are probably still visible, but she doesn't care. She only cares that she can see him, that he's unharmed.

"You're okay," he says, clutching her hip, pulling her closer.

She lets the breath fall from her lungs like a weight as she runs her hand along Remus' brow. The transformation from Peakes to himself finishes and her fingers no longer skim over dark brows, but gentle blue eyes_. Familiar._ "Remus, the Polyjuice . . . it's worn off."

"I know; I could feel it starting in the lift. We've been longer than we thought."

A hole explodes in the wall to their left and Remus turns to shield her. It's enough movement for them to see Rowle—the real Rowle— step out of another lift, flanking to Dolohov's side.

Kingsley staggers back under the force of the combined Death Eater spells against his shield charm.

"Stay here, Dora," Remus tells her, scrambling out from under the cloak.

"Remus."

"Stay," he hisses.

He ducks out from behind the pillar, skirting the edge of the Atrium, slipping around behind Dolohov. His wand makes a slashing motion and then Dolohov's upside down, his robes tangling around his flailing arms.

Kingsley has Rowle in a full body-bind before either of them can move.

Another flame of purple fire slashes through the air, erupting from the bottom of Dolohov's wand. Tonks casts a shield charm before the fire can reach Remus, but the move breaks Remus' hold on the Death Eater and Dolohov goes tumbling to the ground, firing a stunner that almost takes Remus by the shoulder.

The Death Eater is on his feet in an instant, eyes hard and greedy. He knocks the wand from Remus' hand as he stumbles to fight off another stunner.

Tonks rushes forward, breaking into the dueling circle. "Go, Kingsley! Get out of here."

He startles at her breath on his neck, then his head drops in a nod.

"You're sure?"

"Go," she hisses. "I have this."

Kingsley reaches forward and drags Rowle into his arms by the scruff of the neck before Disapparating. The crack of noise is enough to mask the sound of her footsteps across the rest of the Atrium.

"Any last words, Lupin?" Dolohov sneers, his wand inching up to Remus' throat, his spindle-like fingers wrenching on tufts of sandy-blond hair, exposing a long line of neck.

Tonks takes her final few steps in silence—she can't reveal herself, not now—before stopping and locking her arms around Remus' waist. Her face presses against his spine, whispering promises against his back, her sense filled with only him.

The shock of Remus' waist disappearing when the cloak drapes around him is enough to startle Dolohov. Tonks waits for the haggard gasp of surprise and the subsequent loosening of fingers before aiming her wand straight out and wordlessly casting _Flipendo_.

With a loud bang, Dolohov is blasted of his feet, crashing into the fountain, water rising over the edges in a tidal wave of shimmering blue.

At the same time, Tonks turns so fast, Remus tucked in her grasp, the weight of crushing air forcing them together.

The cottage, she thinks over and over_. _

_Cottage. Cottage. Cottage_.

_Go. Go. Go._

A _pop. _A _thump. _

Tonks feels the softness of sand and inhales the freeing scent of salt before they've even really touched down. When they do land, they stumble over the property line together. She's still holding Remus' waist, stuck there like a leech, hands rigid, the air drawing into her lungs like she's trying to process thick smoke.

His hand is on hers, grasping, moving over her knuckles.

And slowly he turns towards her, drawing the cloak down, pulling her hair down over her face. He has to push it away with both hands to see her. He looks as shocked and windswept as she feels, though he wears it better, as he offers her a gentle smile. "You're bloody brilliant, you know that?"

Tonks lets out the smoke-breath that burns her lungs, the harsh laugh that buckles her tongue. And the relief she feels—to have escaped, to have finished the job, to have Remus back without a wand pointed at his throat—is so strong that she tips forward, half passed out in his arms, the scent of chocolate and peppermint completely and wonderfully overwhelming.


	35. Chapter 35

**Hello lovely readers,**

**It feels like it's been eight million years since I updated and I apologize profusely, but summer was a blur of work and work and work and I barely had a chance to write. I've finished with my writing withdrawal and am going to try to get this story under wraps before university begins in a couple weeks, so here's the next chapter (it's just a short one to recap and get the ball rolling again).**

**Thanks for sticking with it this long and if you're new, welcome :)**

**As always, reviews are greatly appreciated, even if it's just to say hi!**

* * *

The morning at the Ministry feels like a dream: one Tonks should be waking from. But the longer she floats in her subconscious—that precipice between light and dark—the more she feels the aches from the fight against the Death Eaters. Her muscles twinge from exertion, her chest lowers in a wheeze, but the worst of it seems to be the throbbing sway behind her eyes that leaves her disoriented to the world.

It's only when the darkness begins to fade from Tonks' mind that she realizes two things. First: the weight on her chest is the comforter someone has wrapped up to her neck (presumably Remus) and second: she's dreadfully hungry. It's almost to the point of pain, the gnawing sensation in the pit of her stomach: gurgles and murmurs and growls that send her skin buzzing and her ribs rattling.

The edge of the bed dips as she shuffles up the pillow, shoving the comforter down with her feet. She can feel Remus' warm weight pressed against her thighs. She finds him in the low light of the lamp, his eyes clouded with worry, bordered with fine lines, his hair tossed about like he's been running clumsy fingers through it.

"How long have I been asleep?" she croaks, still blinking away the fog.

"Almost twelve hours."

Tonks makes a gasping kind of sound. _So long? What's happened since then? The Muggle Borns? Bill? Did Kingsley make it out okay? _She looks head long at Remus, eyes lit up like she's watching the Knight Bus approach, and as if sensing her onslaught of questions, he smiles gently, squeezes his hand around hers and says, "I sent word that we made it out. Kingsley and Charlie both sent Patronus' asking after you when I told them you passed out. Everyone else made it back alright."

Tonks scrambles to bring her knees up, meaning to throw her feet over the edge of the bed. "We should go meet them at the Burrow. It isn't too late yet, is it?"

Remus moves very little from what she can tell but his hands are suddenly tight on her shoulders, holding her down against the bed, everything about his expression firm. "No more Order heists or meetings or anything of the sort until you've eaten something, Dora."

"But the others—"

"Dora, please!"

"Alright," she says, slumping back down on the pillow. As much as she cares to deny it at this moment, she's hungry enough to concede to Remus' wishes. And judging by the fine dark circles guarding Remus' face, he could also use some food and some sleep. She tugs on his arm gently, guiding his weight towards her. He settles half over her, his face above hers, his forearms bent by her head. She cards a hand through his hair, tucking it back away from his forehead.

"What are you thinking?" she whispers, watching the flecks in his eyes dance under the lights.

Remus' face is carefully schooled when he replies. "I think you overdid it a bit."

"And?"

"Nothing."

She glares at him, eyes narrowed into fine slits. "I know what you're thinking."

"That you're going to eat this entire apple?" he says, rolling onto his side, producing the fruit from his pocket and offering it to her.

She accepts, but merely holds the fruit against her chest, registering the weight. "Am I really no good to the Order now that I'm pregnant?"

"That's not what I was thinking at all, love."

She sighs and flops around beside him for a comfortable position, the apple rolling down the bed. Remus recovers it, slips a pocket knife from the bedside table and begins peeling into the flesh, offering Tonks the first ripe slice before taking one for himself.

"I do have some concerns though," he mutters.

"Remus—"

He halts her by sliding another apple slice along her lower lip, the juice tangy against her tongue; she opens her mouth and lets him slip the fruit between her teeth.

"Hold on; let me finish. You really worried me."

"M'sorry."

"You were terrific back at the Ministry: I'm not worried about your skill. But you were exhausted. That much is evident; so don't even bother denying it."

She nods and makes a vaguely dismissive noise at the back of her throat. "I ran into Greyback when I was in the basement."

Remus pauses with the apple against his tongue, his jaw visibly tightening. He takes a small bite and chews; when he's finished, he asks tentatively: "And?"

"Dumped a vat of Aconite on his head."

Remus swallows the chunk of apple down and his eyes widen in shock. "Teddy, your mother is showing me up at everything."

"He isn't going to be happy with us," Tonks sighs, staring at the ceiling as Remus pulls her to him, pressing a kiss to the top of her head.

"No he's not. Though I don't think he was particularly impressed when I threatened him at the Burrow either." Remus chucks the apple core into the rubbish bin and settles along the length of the bed, one hand instinctively going to Tonks' stomach. "We're meeting everyone at the Burrow tomorrow morning to discuss the Ministry. You should get some more sleep."

Tonks looks at him, her eyes tight with worry. "It's really happening isn't it? They've really taken it from us."

"They have."

"But we've done our part, haven't we? Getting the Muggle-borns out?"

Remus drops his head and looks out the window to the sky, the moon a silver bladed knife cutting through the darkness. "We did. Now if we could only warn the rest of them."

* * *

Tonks is barely awake when Molly pushes a steaming mug of tea under her nose. She smiles up at her as Kingsley takes a seat at the head of the table, flicking his wand at the lamp hovering overhead.

"We've done good work," he says, dropping a rolled up paper between Charlie and Remus.

"The Quibbler?" Tonks says with a yawn. She hides a second behind her hand as Remus' fingers trail up her spine through her coat. It's getting drafty outside and with just Charlie and Bill in the house, the Burrow is running rather cool.

She tips her head to give the title a read: MASS MINISTRY ESCAPE - MUGGLE-BORNS BEWARE.

Kingsley nods. "Xenophilius agreed to print the article. Merlin knows the Prophet will never run it. They've even chased Rita Skeeter out of her office."

"Did we take credit for this?" Tonks asks, tapping the article with a finger.

Kingsley shakes his head. "Not officially, but those inside the Ministry know exactly what group orchestrated the break out. If they want to—"

Kingsley cuts off as a silver weasel scampers in through the window, across the table and down the hall. Molly chases after it as Charlie stands to pass out another plate of breakfast biscuits.

Tonks takes another—her third this morning—and slathers it with pumpkin jelly.

Molly returns with a note clutched to her chest. "Arthur just sent word; he says they've put warrants out on Remus and you as well Kingsley."

"That's not surprising," Charlie says, his cheeks stuffed with biscuit.

"What about Tonks?" Remus asks. "Charlie? Bill?"

Kingsley shakes his head. "No one actually saw you three in the flesh. So for now you're good."

Tonks bites her lip, wondering if now is a good time to mention her run-in with Greyback to the rest of the group. "Still, we should lay low," Bill cuts in, jarring her thoughts back. "For a while at least. Until we can peg down how they're going to retaliate. It's only a matter of time. We all know this."

"What about the Muggle-borns we helped escape?" Tonks asks. "Where did they end up?"

"There were a few casualties," Kingsley tells her. "Dolohov was firing killing curses into the crowd. There was nothing to be done about that. But the majority made it to the Hogshead. Aberforth housed who he could, shuffling some over to the Three Broomsticks; all the others Apparated away to secure locations—hopefully far away from the Ministry."

Remus nods. "And what of Rowle?"

"I left him at the pub." He reaches into his pocket and procures a wand, placing it gingerly in the middle of the table. It's unfamiliar and black, the wood dark . . . _evil_. "I think some of our new friends probably took care of him. Thanks to Tonks some of them had their wands back."

"So that's it, then?" Charlie says, swallowing and wiping his face on his sleeve. "Job's done?"

Tonks feels that heavy revelation from last night swirl in the pit of her gut, the one Remus talked about. They need to _warn people_ and she knows exactly what that heated look Kingsley has means: the fire of determination.

"We're far from done," Kingsley tells Charlie, and the rest of the table by proxy "but they're free and that's all we can ask for. Now we need to tell the rest of the Wizarding World what's going on; the one's hanging their heads in fear or denial. We need to expose the Ministry for what it's become."

"Time to give them the truth," Charlie agrees. "How do people defend themselves when they don't know what's going on, right?"

"Exactly. You can be sure the Registry Room is gone after those fireworks, but that doesn't mean the Death Eaters won't be out, hunting them down still. We have to gather our side. Anyone who's willing to stand against You-Know-Who." Kingsley holds the Quibbler up. "This was the first step in communicating with our side: showing them there's something wrong. But the Ministry will shut it down quickly. We need another way to gather them, to converse with them freely. In a way that can't be tracked or traced back. Half the battle will be keeping people informed."

Charlie looks down the table at Remus and together they nod. "I think we might have an idea, Kingsley."


	36. Chapter 36

Five days pass before Tonks feels like herself again.

In that time the tails around the cottage increase exponentially—reminding them every day that Remus is a wanted man. Every time Tonks looks out the window there's a different cloaked wizard scouting the beach. Sometimes Remus recognizes their faces—werewolves—and he tells her about them. The stories make her shiver and she clutches at him tighter as they sit on the patio in the cool ocean wind, wrapped in the blanket from Grimmauld Place.

There's an array of Muggle doodads spread out across the table in front of them—soon to be pieces of the magical radio Remus and Charlie have been building.

"What does this do?" she asks.

"It'll allow the radio to link up to a channel, like the WWN."

"Is it ready? I mean, have you tested it and everything?"

"Arthur's just about finished converting it."

"Well after that flying car this should be a breeze."

Remus chuckles and Tonks can feel the sound rattle across her shoulders and down her spine.

"You will be careful, won't you?" she says. "You haven't been out since the Ministry break-out. Kingsley's had so much trouble since then; I'm just worried."

"I'm sure Charlie will find somewhere safe for us to set up. And last I heard Kingsley and his wife had settled."

"That doesn't mean they won't find him again."

"No, but for now it's better than being on run."

Tonks sighs. "I still don't understand why you can't just launch the program from here, or the Burrow. Wouldn't it be safer?"

"Kingsley doesn't want us linking our homes to the program, just in case."

"But—"

A wispy, silver fox scampers out from under their seat and perches on the table in front of them. It tips its head side to side, very reminiscent of Charlie, before his voice bleeds through the foggy animal: "Fred and George said we can do it out the back of their shop. We'll go tonight, when it's dark. Bring Tonks' invisibility cloak."

With wide eyes, Tonks turns, pleading: "Oh, Remus, you can't go into Diagon Alley."

"It'll be dark, love. And I'll have the cloak."

"That doesn't change anything. You're a wanted man. If someone finds you—"

"They won't, Dora. Please don't worry. You know it's not good for the baby."

"I don't know how I'm supposed to help that."

He leans close, pressing a kiss to her temple, his lips trailing down to her ear, before whispering, "I'll just have to distract you."

Tonks fights the smile that curls her lips. There's still a panic filled bubble in her chest, but as her heart speeds to catch her emotions, the bubble deflates.

"What exactly did you have in mind, Mr. Lupin?"

* * *

As darkness descends Remus and Charlie Apparate just outside the Leaky Cauldron. The moon is high, almost a perfect circle, painting the street in yellows and golds.

Remus cocks his head, stretching his neck, the pull of the moon strong against his blood and bones.

"You alright?" Charlie asks.

"Yes. It's still a day yet."

"Bill gets like that now. Twitchy. Achy."

"He will."

"You should see the way he takes his steak."

"Raw?" Remus asks, his lips tipped up.

"It's bloody disgusting. Pun intended. I don't know how Fleur puts up with him all moping and whiny."

"The same way Tonks puts up with me I suppose."

"Somehow I know Tonks wouldn't put up with you like that."

Remus chuckles. "You're probably right."

"Of course I am. It's one of the things she used to beat on me for_. 'Charlie you pretentious know it all. Shut up before I beat your ass.'_ Your wife had a violent streak as a teenager."

Remus bites his cheek to hide the smile. "She's grown out of it some."

"Nah, I think she's just channeled it all into her hexes. She taught Ginny the Bat-Bogey and man, its wicked good."

"I'll have to remember that when I let her loose with Teddy."

Charlie barks a laugh. "Can't imagine a smaller Tonks running around. I mean, the kid'll be cute as hell, but he'll probably be dangerous. Maybe a biter. Andromeda said Tonks used to bite when she was little." Charlie waits until Tom stifles the lamp light inside the pub, tossing the last few stranglers into the street. "Chuck that cloak on in case Tom catches us. It's time."

Sneaking through the Leaky Cauldron after hours proves to be the easy part of the mission. Getting into Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes proves to be the hard part. They enter through the back of Fred and George's shop, keeping their hands clear of the bins propped on either side of the door.

"Research and Development," Charlie huffs with a crooked smile. "Fred's working on some invisibility powder. Hasn't seen his left hand for a week.''

"Best keep out of things then."

"I'll sa—_son of a bitch!" _Charlie cries.

"What?"

"Stubbed my toe."

"On what?"

Charlie whips around, wand drawn up defensively. "I don't know, but whatever it was, it was moving."

"Did Fred and George say—"

"That there were weird things in the shop? Yeah, they did. Warned me about fooling with anything we happened to find roaming."

Remus steps lighter after that, following Charlie up a set of narrow, winding stairs. He stops before a long wooden work counter and Remus sets to work clearing space. "Did your father or Bill run into any trouble passing the word along at the Ministry?"

Charlie shrugs. "It'll take time to gather momentum, but word of mouth will spread eventually. The pocket is small right now. We've stuck to people we know are on our side."

Remus makes a vague humming noise. "Fear breeds traitors."

"But this," Charlie says, tipping the satchel on his back and shuffling the parts along the counter. "This will breed hope." He smirks. "At least that's the plan."

Together he and Remus begin assembly of the radio, running wires and placing antennas. "This is terribly Muggle," Charlie complains, having prodded something with his wand that sent sparks up his arm. He turns in a circle and curses Merlin, shaking out the tingles.

"Yes, well, it's almost done," Remus says, hovering the final piece off the floor where he spent that last ten minutes assembling. "Here, place that along the top."

Charlie catches the metal and hooks it into place, sighing with his hands on his hips.

"Does it look right?" Remus asks, coming to stand by him.

Charlie nods and reaches for a series of knobs. "Dad said to set it up just like this and tune the dial, three spins to the right, back one, and an extra half a turn should do it." The radio buzzes to life, drowning out Charlie's triumphant glee of, "Yes!"

"It worked," Remus says in disbelief.

"Did you ever doubt?" Charlie laughs. He pulls out a chair and gestures for Remus to sit. "Would you like to take it away, Mr. Moony? I'm sure your lady is listening at home. Probably getting antsy by now."

Remus and Charlie share a knowing smile (they half expected Tonks to follow them to Diagon alley), before Remus hooks a pair of headphones over his ears and pulls the microphone to his lips. He gives Charlie a nod, and waits while he depresses a series of buttons. Charlie gives him a thumbs up and Remus makes his first announcement, reading off the pre-worked script Kingsley owled to him earlier in the day.

"Good evening, witches and wizards," he begins. "If you're tuning in you've reached the resistance. A dedicated group of fighters working diligently to take on the Dark Lord's regime. Though many of you care to deny it still, the fact of the matter is that we are at war, and the longer we wait, the stronger the Dark Lord will become. It is time to band together. It is time to fight."

Remus takes a breath and Charlie gives him the go ahead again.

"You may have noticed the recent Muggle-born breakout in the news. The Ministry of Magic has fallen. It no longer fights to protect you. The Dark Lord's followers work from the inside to infiltrate and destroy. Do not turn to the Ministry for help."

Remus flips the next page.

"This program will be dedicated to spreading news of the resistance. Our fight. And most importantly the work of Harry Potter. Albus Dumbledore believed in the boy and it is with him that our trust and help must remain.

"So, on that note, our last reported sighting of Harry was in a Muggle diner where he was engaged in a duel with several Death Eaters. Harry and his companions appear to have escaped and continue to pursue a mission known only to them, presumably set by the late Albus Dumbledore.

"Further information on this matter will be relayed as it becomes available."

Remus swallows and heads into a series of announcements.

"Anti-muggle born legislation continues to tighten within the Ministry . . . snatchers will now patrol Wizarding communities in search of listed fugitives . . . homes raids have begun . . . in-person searches will be conducted at the entrances to Diagon alley, requiring a self-identification process and wand weighing . . . groups of goblins are looking for aid in the Fenwick Forest. If you can provide shelter they will be at Common Creek until dusk tomorrow.

"Stay tuned nightly. Reports will be sporadic. This is . . . _Potter Watch_ signing off."

Charlie grins at him, releasing the buttons on the radio. "That bit at the end there. That was golden."

"You think?"

"If that doesn't get people moving, I don't know what will."

"It's just a matter of—

The sound of glass shattering echoes through the shop and Charlie freezes, mid-stride.

"Front window?" Remus says, hunching over the counter.

"Sounds like it."

"What's going on?"

Charlie crawls forward and peers over the edge of the bannister. Seeing the flash of black cloaks he retreats. "A raid," he whispers. "Time to pack it in. Bastards better hope the twins haven't booby trapped the place."

Remus begins shrinking the radio, small enough to stow away in his pocket. But before he can finish, Charlie grunts and they're engulfed in darkness: a heavy, powdery mist grinding against their skin and in their nostrils.

"Peruvian darkness powder," Remus gasps, rolling the black sand off his tongue.

There's a groan and the dull sound of flesh meeting bone. Someone's thrown a punch.

"Fred and George have to stop selling this crap to the wrong people!" Charlie lets out a great wheezing hack, his hand colliding with Remus' shoulder as he swings again in the darkness.

Remus barely manages to get his hand over Charlie's mouth before other hands break through the mist and seize them.

They're hauled down the stairs and into the front room; out of the darkness, the bulky shadow leaning against the wall shifts into view.

"Greyback," Remus says shortly.

"Oh, come now, we're old friends by now, Remus. Call me Fenrir."

"I wouldn't exactly say that."

"And who else is here with you, hmm?" the werewolf asks, his yellow eyes sparking. "The wifey maybe?"

Charlie lunges but is caught up by the hand around his throat. He grunts and spits, his eyes narrowed dangerously.

Greyback regards him with a sneer before he begins pacing between the shelves, stowing things in his pockets at random. "I really hoped I'd be the one to find you, Lupin. You know, I purposely left out seeing your wife that morning at the Ministry. Didn't want her on their lists so that when I found her I could deal with her myself. You see," he tilts his face towards the moon, highlighting charred bits of skin—Aconite burns Remus realizes, "her and I have some unfinished business."

"She's not here."

"That so? Too bad. Though I bet she'd come running if we let slip that her husband had been taken in by some Snatchers. We'll print up a nice article in the Prophet. Put your lovely mug up on there. She wouldn't be able to resist. Maybe even get some of the other Order scum to come running." Greyback returns to his side and seizes a handful of Remus' hair, wrenching his head back. "Where are you hiding Shacklebot, hmm? He'll fetch a nice price when we find him."

Remus grunts against the pain, but remains silent.

"You know it's inevitable, right? You can stay quiet. You can beg and plead. But I'll find them, Lupin. Shacklebot. Your wife. Your son." He snickers as Remus' eyes widen. "Oh, yes, Lupin. I haven't forgotten about the baby. And where ever they end up when we're done with you, I'll find them and I'll wait. Until he's just old enough to survive the transformation. Like father like son."

"Why?" Remus growls. "What use are they to you?"

Greyback's eyes grow comically large, manic even as he gestures wildly. "Because we don't get to live like the rest of them, Lupin. And you don't seem to get that? So I have to teach you a lesson. I'll take you back to the Ministry and let the Dementors suck on your soul bit by bit, until you're a writhing, miserable excuse for a man. And then I'll let you watch as I turn your wife. And then your son. That's assuming I'm able to stop myself of course. I've become better over the years, but sometimes those . . . urges are just too strong, with the moon and all. And your wife is so very, very young. Almost a child herself, wouldn't you say?"

"I'll kill you," Remus snarls, the hands of the other Snatchers tightening around his throat.

"You won't, because if you really had it in you, you would have done it already. You would have pointed your wand at my chest and that would have been the end of it. Lucky for me you're one of the good guys. Won't even be able to do it to save your own son.

"And when I've bit him I'll take your wife and play around with her a bit. Then, when the moon's full I'll take her with me into the woods and when you wake up from you're soulless slumber, you'll see what really happens during the moon when you don't swallow down that muck the Wizards make you take.

"Does it make you feel better, Lupin? Accepted? Do they let you curl up on the floor in front of the fire if you promise to be a good little wolf? Weasley's wife always leaving you table scraps?"

Remus lunges again but Greyback is faster and his hand slashes the air, leaving four red ribbons upon Remus' face.

"To match your others," he snarls before turning to the other Snatchers. "Take them in. Check their pockets. I want their wands!"


	37. Chapter 37

The moon has barely set when Tonks finds herself staggering out of bed, unable to resist that panicked bubble urging at her gut. Remus has yet to return, his side of the bed like ice to her roaming fingers.

It's been too long. She knows it; though her mind tries to deny it, comfort her, it's unavoidable now. Something has gone wrong. She finds the clock on the wall, hands clinging to the early morning hours, and she reaches for her chest, pressing against the painful thump of her heart. The broadcast should've ended hours ago.

She grabs her coat from the front hall of the cottage and dives into the kitchen cupboard for something before Apparating off the front steps. The move makes her sick, something that hasn't happened before, though whether it's because of the pregnancy or because of the nerves, she buckles as soon as she touches down again and wretches next to her shoes.

Wiping her mouth on her sleeve, Tonks trudges up the front steps and inside.

"Where are they?" she demands as soon as she's in the door of the Burrow. Molly catches her around the waist as she stumbles towards the counter.

"Caught by Snatchers by the looks of things," Bill says, tossing the grizzled seeds of darkness powder down on the table. He adds the shrunken remains of the radio to the pile. "They left the radio intact, which means they didn't know what they were doing there, or what this was for."

"It was a random raid." George throws himself into a chair, plucking the empty seed pockets from the table. "Entire shop is covered in soot. We really need to start screening who we sell to."

"So you haven't heard anything either?" Tonks says, panic rising in her voice.

Molly shakes her head. "Nothing from Charlie yet."

Tonks swallows and places the vial she's been clutching on the table top, her hands shaking as she pulls away. "The full moon is tonight. And Remus hasn't finished his potion. If Charlie's with him when he changes . . ."

Molly clutches her chest with both hands. "Oh, Merlin."

* * *

It's Charlie's grunting that finally brings Remus out of the hazy black fog that's been clouding his judgment since they were grabbed by the Snatchers earlier. He props himself up a little straighter, edging back against a wall, stretching his limbs out. They ache with the weight of the moon, so close now, but the fact that everything still moves means nothing's broken. That's a relief at least.

His face hurts like hell though and he tastes the dried blood crusted on his lips.

Charlie grunts again. "Good, you're awake. Thought I was gunna have to bust us outta here myself. Where are we, you think?"

Remus shrugs his shoulders, then regrets it, biting his teeth against the pain. Definitely bruised some ribs. "Who knows? They've moved us a couple times. Took our wands, too. And the invisibility cloak."

"Bastards," Charlie says, shuffling into a sitting position. He blinks and tips his head back to see Remus. He's sporting another black eye and it's no wonder he hasn't gone blind permanently yet. "Think it's been a day yet? We can't have been tied up for a day, right?"

"We haven't passed another nightfall," Remus confirms. He tests the bonds at his wrists, finding them loose.

"How d'you know?"

"Tonight is the full moon. If it had passed, we would know."

Charlie looks at him, eyes widening with the consequences of those words: _full moon_. He shifts a little, hands straining the bindings around his wrists, tongue darting out to moisten his lips. "Don't suppose you tucked your potion into your pocket before we left yesterday?"

Remus shakes his head and Charlie lets out a lengthy sigh. "Well, bollocks."

* * *

The remainder of the Order, minus Charlie and Remus, sit huddled around the table at the Burrow in what is quickly becoming an all too regular occurrence, Tonks thinks. The only thing that changes is how many members turn up after each catastrophe. They're always losing someone and she refuses to let it be Remus or Charlie this time.

With a gulp, she finishes her tea and the biscuit Molly had set in front of her, urging her to eat something before she makes herself sick again.

"We can't just go barging into the shop again," Bill is saying. "Fred and George already had to skirt around the Death Eater cronies stalking the place. It's a full on trap. They're expecting us to turn up. We do that and more of us will get captured."

"We'll we certainly can't just leave them," Molly says, bustling around and refilling mugs. "Wherever they are."

"Remus is smart and Charlie's . . . well, he's as stubborn as the rest of us Weasley's," Bill says. "They'll be alright."

"So we just sit around and wait?" Tonks says, her worst fears confirmed. If there was anything she wasn't good at—wasn't prepared to do—it was sit around and wait.

Mr. Weasley lets out a lengthy sigh of his own. "Until we hear one way or another there's nothing we can do."

Tonks feels the weight in her chest explode. It's so sharp and fast that she can't breathe. _Nothing we can do_. The last time she heard those words her dad had been killed.

* * *

"Tell me, Lupin!"

Remus shakes his head again, tensing his jaw for the next blow. When it comes, it erupts like fireworks behind his teeth, shooting straight up his head behind his eyes. He feels like they might just explode from their sockets.

"We'll see how you feel after tonight, when you bathe in the blood of your friend here." Greyback chuckles. "Still, I think there'll be enough Weasley's to go around."

He snarls and leaves the cell, locking it with the iron chain.

Remus clutches his jaw; his heart beat is high in his chest.

Charlie tuts when they're alone again, clicking his tongue behind his teeth. "So, I'm getting the feeling he doesn't like you very much."

Remus spits out a clot of blood, running his tongue over his front tooth. It wiggles painfully under his touch. He chokes on the rest of the blood in his mouth as he drags his gaze up to meet Charlie's. "What gave you that impression?"

"Well, if the blood doesn't give it away, the open hostility might."

"Greyback has longstanding issues with my family. And an unhealthy obsession with my wife."

"Guess bargaining our way out of here isn't going to work then? Unless Tonks is willing to play all nicey-nice with the psychotic werewolf." One look at Remus and Charlie back tracks. "Right, too soon for jokes."

"No," Remus continues. "They very much plan to have us die in here, whether I reveal Tonks' location to Greyback or not."

"That settles it then." Charlie snaps the necklace from his neck, beads spilling over the boxed floor. He sorts through the mess, gathering up the long white dragon teeth charms.

"What are you doing?"

"Getting the heck out of here. Said it yourself. We're gunna die in here regardless. Whether by their hand or when you get all dark and hairy tonight. Might as well give escape our best shot." He hands Remus a loose dragon's tooth. "Dragon teeth are like razors. Not as good as a wand, but it'll draw blood just as well." He nods to the chains. "Now get to work. Or was Tonks exaggerating your wandless magic?"

"We're severely outnumber, Charlie. And whether they know how to use them properly or not, the Snatchers still have our wands."

"Then we be smarter. And we get them back."

Remus nods slowly. "The moon is tonight—"

"I think we've covered this already."

Remus rolls his eyes at Charlie before continuing. "Which means Greyback will set out early in pursuit of a target. That's our best chance at escape."

"That closes the window of opportunity substantially."

"We're only going to get one shot at this," Remus says. "We'll have to make the most of it."

* * *

Tonks stands at the door of the Burrow, bundling up her coat, while Molly wraps a scarf around her neck.

"Tonks, this is insane. If you're found out—"

Tonks takes both her hands and squeezes. "We have to find them, Molly. It'll be alright"

Bill nods, hand at the small of Tonks' back guiding her outside, beyond the barrier to Apparate. They pause for a minute, their breath white against the sky.

"I'll get myself in," Bill says, "under a dissolution charm. I'll sniff around till I find someone from maintenance you can impersonate."

Tonks nods. "It's the only way I can think of. Remus is wanted. The first thing Greyback would have done is contact the Ministry for his bounty."

"Then let's go track them down." Bill takes her hand and in the time it takes for a breath they're huddle outside the Ministry, sheltered in a dark alley. Bill disappears from sight, and Tonks pulls her scarf tighter, hiding herself from view. She's morphed her hair the drab, mousy brown to avoid being recognized, but her heart still starts when people glance her way.

"Tonks."

She almost jumps out of her skin when Bill returns, still under disillusionment.

He appears slowly, like a reflection in the water top. "Lark Simmons," he says. "Magical maintenance and repair. Out sick today." He tosses her a pair of blue uniforms. "Put these on."

She does and he eyes her warily. "You good? Ready?"

"Yes," she says.

Bill produces a folded picture from his pocket. "Swiped this from his desk."

It's a family portrait. Lark is a big man. Stocky build. With greying, wiry hair and a lengthy beard.

"Is this good enough?" he asks.

"Perfect," Tonks says, committing the image to memory, letting the shapes and colours bleed through her body. Letting it shift and shape her around Teddy.

"How'd I do?" she asks.

"It's uncanny," Bill says.

He wishes her luck then and watches her disappear into the Ministry. Tonks just tries not to puke.

Inside there's less people than she ever remembers seeing at the Ministry, but she doesn't pay that any mind. Instead she books it towards the Auror Department, snatching up a mop at a nearby cupboard to use as cover, knowing that's the last place Yaxley was located.

The offices are dimly lit, most of the regular Auror staff having abandoned their posts. Now these chairs belong to the Death Eaters. Just when she thinks the Department is empty, she hears voices at the end of the hall, drawing nearer on silent feet, wand drawn just in case.

"They have Lupin in custody. Picked him up at that joke shop," she hears. It sounds like Peakes. "Greyback isn't being very forthcoming with the location as of yet."

"Force it out of him if you have to."

"Sir—"

"Don't tell me you're afraid of Greyback, Peakes."

There's a scoff. Then a shuffle. "You didn't see the way he left that last witch he attacked."

"The Dark Lord controls him. He wouldn't dare attack us without order."

"The Dark Lord does not know of all his workings, Yaxley."

There's a long pause. "Perhaps it is time he finds out then. We have two of the Order scum ready to be handed over and that wolf is the only thing standing in our way."

Tonks pulls away from the door, rushing from the office.

* * *

"Greyback has them," she says as soon as they bust through the door of the Burrow.

"You're sure?" Molly asks.

"Yes. _Yes._"

"Did they say where?" Fred and George ask in unison.

"No, but it can't be in the Ministry," Tonks says, "or else Yaxley would have known."

Bill agrees, crossing his arms as he leans against the counter. Molly stuffs a muffin in his hand. "The Ministry would have been convenient, which means Greyback is holding out for something. Something more than his payout."

"He's toying with him," Tonks says and Bill looks up curiously. "With Remus. Greyback has history with him. This is as much about getting back at him as it is about collecting the bounty."

"Where would Greyback take them?"

"The Underground," she says suddenly. Of course! "The one place where he controls everything."

Bill nods and summons a stack of parchment on the table down in front of her. "Draw it for me. What you remember of your time there."

"Bill, it was only a few days."

"You're the only one of us who's been."

Tonks looks up at Bill. "Then I should go with you."

"No!" several of them protest and Tonks resists the urge to groan.

"You cannot go alone!" she says.

"He won't be."

"Kingsley?" Tonks says, spinning on her heel. She hasn't seen him since the raid on the Ministry. He looks . . . well, not _good _exactly. But it sure as hell is good to see him.

"We're running out of time," he says, offering Tonks a small smile before drawing up to his full height, the weight and authority of one of the top Aurors bleeding through his exterior. "Sunset is drawing near."

* * *

Charlie watches in awe as the iron chain around their cell slithers to the ground in a silent puddle. "You know, if I could do half the stuff you can, I'd be Headmaster of Hogwarts."

Remus can't help himself and smiles as he drags the chain out of the way. "Perhaps, if you didn't have the blood of a werewolf tainting your resume."

"Touché. Maybe not Headmaster anyway. Didn't end so well for Dumbledore." He pokes his head out the door. "Do you think he's gone?"

"Yes, but as far as I can tell we're in the werewolf Underground. There's been too many of them coming and going today. It's close to the moon, but some of the pack will have been left behind as guards. We'll most likely be flooded with wolves in his absence, especially after dark. We'll have to be cautious."

Charlie scoffs. "And when am I not cautious these days?"

They run into their first problem when they try to exit the cell block. There's a young wolf that's been left on guard. He's already twitching with the feel of the moon, leaving him distracted, and Remus uses the moment to slip out behind him and wrap a hand around his neck, squeezing his arteries in the crook of his elbow.

He digs the dragon tooth that Charlie gave him up under the wolf's ribs, wrenching his arm back when Charlie comes up from behind and knocks the wolf upside the head. Surprise is plain in his features, brows crooked, eyes pulled to white as his knees buckle and he collapses.

With the weight of the man on his feet, Remus bends hurriedly and digs into the front of his robes, hands wrapping around the wands he finds there.

The bubble in his chest deflates—providing comfort, hope—as he squeezes his own wand between his fingers, the feeling of magic crackling up his wrists.

"Look here, stupid git was sitting on it," Charlie says suddenly, holding up the twisted bulk of Tonks' invisibility cloak.

"Had these too," Remus says, tossing Charlie his wand.

Charlie catches the wand with the tips of his fingers, points it at Remus and yells: "Stupefy!"

For a moment Remus panics, his throat dry as the swish of spell passes close enough to ruffle his hair. The dull thud of a body hitting the floor draws his attention behind him and he sees the body of another snatcher—another wolf—splayed out, unconscious.

"Scared you, didn't I?"

Remus gives Charlie a wry grin before cocking his head and leading him from the cellar.

They exit the darkness, wands drawn and run smack into a group of people. Remus has the makings of a curse on the tip of his tongue, ready to let loose, but Charlie grabs his wrist, lowering the wand.

"Bill, Kingsley, what're you doing here?"

"Rescue party, what d'you think?" Bill says. He's sporting a cut lip but looks otherwise unhurt.

"We're doing quite fine on our own thanks," Charlie deadpans. "Nice of you to cut it this close though."

"Could just leave you here with Remus. I'm sure he'd appreciate the play toy in another hour."

"Very funny."

"Tonks sent this," Kingsley says, passing Remus the vile of Wolfsbane.

"It's too late. It won't have enough time to filter through my body now."

"Then go, Remus. Wherever you need to. We've got this."

"Are you—" The vase by his head shatters into a million pieces, glass shards embedded in his face as he ducks to the ground, his ears burning.

"Guess that stunner wore off," Charlie gripes. "Damn wolf blood." He looks over at Remus as they break into a run. "No offense."

"Let's just get out of here!"

* * *

Tonks receives the good news from Molly by Patronus, moments before Remus comes stumbling through the door.

"Remus, Merlin!"

She crushes him to her chest hard enough to break him. She can feel the veins in his neck contorting as she pulls his face to hers, her lips seizing his and searing them together. She wants to keep him here. Hold him close and stroke his skin until the worry abates, but the moon is pulling him away from her.

"Dora," he groans when she breaks away.

"Go," she says, pushing him back out the door, towards the cellar. "Go, Remus."

It looks like the last thing he wants to do in the world, but he goes, one fumbling step at a time as he cranes his neck to see her. His eyes are already yellowing as the cellar door slams closed on top of him.

She listens to him howl that night, to the sound of his claws against the cellar door, the weight of his haunches smashing against concrete walls.

He's hurting himself.

But he isn't Remus.

Not tonight.

The last mouthful of potion still sits on the table top where he left it and she whips it across the room, the echo of howled misery clawing around the cottage and in her head.

When the moon sets, replaced by early streams of light, Remus pads across the garden and into the cottage, trembling with exertion.

Tonks is propped up in the corner of the couch, her head nestled on her arm, the shallow breaths of sleep ruffling the edges of pink hair.

Remus moves on shaky, tired legs, falling down next to her. The movement jostles her awake and she blinks at him owlishly for a moment before her tired eyes become heavy with a new kind of burden.

"Remus," she mumbles, threading her fingers into his tattered and torn robes. Her head droops against his chest as she inhales deep, tickling the skin of his throat. She begins to sob and he pulls her tight against him, falling back along the couch.

She lies on his chest, the wetness from her eyes pooling along his skin. "I thought you were dead," she says when she's regained some of her composure.

"I'm right here, love. I promised you, remember?" He strokes a hand down her spine. "I'm not going anywhere."

She leans away from him, eyes wet as she traces his jaw with her hands. "Merlin, your face."

"Looks worse than it is. I promise."

She summons ointment from the one of the kitchen cupboards and a cloth from the sink. It's not exactly Molly-worthy but it'll have to do in the meantime. "Let me take care of this," she begs.

He shakes his head, straightening against her ministrations, a sudden seriousness in his face, in his voice. "Dora, I want you to go into hiding."

"What," she says, startled by his words. "Remus, I . . . _no_."

"He wants you," Remus says, holding her by the elbows, fingers tightening. "Greyback wants you more than anything. He's seeking you out. The way he sought me out after my father had angered him. You're his new mark."

"Remus . . . I can't—"

"There is no choice. He will hunt you. The same way the Dark Lord hunted James and Lily."

"That was different."

"How, Dora? He's out for blood. And he won't stop until he gets it."

She stands then, turning away from him. "Enough," she says. "I almost lost you yesterday. I don't want to fight."

Remus stands as well. She can sense his shadow, towering over her, and despite his weariness, there is strength there. "Don't you see, Dora. This is exactly why you must go. I can't bear to lose you or Teddy. How could I . . . how would I—"

His voice breaks and Tonks spins around, reaching for his hand and clutching it to her chest. "Remus," she whispers, trying to keep the tremble out of her voice.

He looks down at her, eyes wide and broken, terrified beyond belief at what he asks of her. What could happen if he doesn't. "Dora, please," he begs.

"Who'd be secret keeper?" she asks in a voice that sounds nothing like her own.

"I'll do it. I'd sooner die then reveal you. You'd be safe."

"Alone?"

"It's the only way to keep you and Teddy from him."

"I don't want to talk about this anymore."

"Dora, there isn't a choice. Or time. The Dark Lord is moving. His forces are getting stronger. It has to be now. Before people realize." His eyes fall to the floor. "I wish it wasn't like this. That Teddy wasn't a thought. He puts you in so much more danger. Ties you to me. I'd do anything to make it not so, but I can't undo it now. The only thing I can do is hide you."

Tonks feels the breath stutter from her chest. It's painful, cutting deep inside her ribs, crushing her lungs. _How could he?_ She folds her hands across her chest, feeling the tremor in her arms. "Get out," she mutters.

"Dora?" He reaches for her, but she untucks her hands and forces him away.

"Go, Remus. I can't deal with you right now. Don't you dare stand there and tell me you regret any of it. Not one second. Because I know it's a great, fat lie." Her fists hammer against his chest, the force of her rage enough to jar his heart against his ribs. He can feel the beat echo into his teeth and the pain that registers on her face—the pain that he's caused—is enough to stall his breath.

She turns away from him, turning in on herself, elbows tucked, head to the ground, and when he reaches for her again she lurches away.

His only recourse is to move because he feels like he's drowning. He takes one staggering step backwards, then another, and before he knows it he's out the door and across the yard, stumbling far enough away from the cottage to Apparate.

When she hears the crack she doesn't turn back, just flinches at the sound, the shudder climbing down her spine and leaving her flushed with goosebumps.

Her hands fall to her stomach. To the bump that grows there.

To Teddy.

She will _not_ regret him. Or any of the time she's spent married to Remus. Not one minute of it. No matter how hard it's been or how much harder it will become.

And if Remus is going to stand there and tell her she's better off without him then she certainly doesn't need him right now.

If he's so insistent that she disappear, that she be on her own, then she might as well be.

She swallows down the lump in her throat, sucks back the tears she can feel brimming at her eyelids, and goes to owl her Mum. Some tea and some time away would do her good.

The less time she spends in the cottage the better because despite how angry she feels, she can't ignore how lonely the house is without Remus, and how much she already misses his presence.

She spends most of the time on her own going between her Mum's place and the Burrow. She only lasts so long being fretted over by both women and it's in those moments more than anything that she misses Remus because despite how fiercely she knows he wants to protect her, she also knows that he recognizes how strong she is. How much she is capable of. And despite it being her first time working at this pregnancy thing, she's not completely hopeless.

At least, that's what she tells herself as she stares into the window's reflection at the Burrow. She turns to the side, inspecting her figure as she stands there on the stoop, hand poised at the door handle.

There's definitely a bump now, one that she's noticed more because it's getting in the way of things, not in the way it will in several months, but she feels it when she leans against the counter to grab her mug from the cupboard, or when she's sleeping and rolls over.

Her robes still hide it and the Weird Sister's tee she's got on today just manages to cover her still. But it's frightening how much more real this makes it feel. Being able to see the way she changes to accommodate Teddy . . . it stills her heart.

She shakes her head and with a breathy sigh opens the front door.

"Molly?" she calls.

A flare of red hair and a dish rag appear in the doorway and Molly's eyes widen comically before she bustles down the hall. "Oh, you startled me."

"Sorry, I owled ahead."

"Yes, of course. It's just," her eyes skim the clock on the wall, every hand hovering around mortal peril and her hands wring together. "Well, never mind that now. Come in. Sit down."

She glances at Tonks again, a quick up and down, like she's seeing her for the first time and frowns, pointing at her with a wooden spoon she procures from her apron pocket. "You look kind of peckish, dear. Have you been eating okay?"

Tonks sighs around a smile. "Yes, Molly."

"I know how you get. You're like Ginny. Get all worked up and you forget your head. You know you're eating for two now." She stands at the entrance of the kitchen, waiting for Tonks to catch up. When they meet Molly wraps her in a shuddering hug, one that squeezes Tonks' ribs, making it all the more difficult for her to breathe, but she just squeezes Molly back because she knows these hugs have become few and far between.

Ron's gone. Ginny's at school. And the rest of the Weasley brood are always coming and going on some sort of Order business, just waiting for the other shoe to drop.

Molly pulls away after a minute, holding Tonks away at arm's length before taking her hand and leading her into the kitchen. "How've you been, dear?"

"Well enough," she says, plopping down in a chair without one ounce of ladylike finesse. Wouldn't her mother be proud.

Molly looks over from where she's puttering with the teapot, prodding it to life with a firm poke from her wand. She twists her lips in a way that has Tonks squirming.

"Honestly, I'm having trouble concentrating lately."

Molly hums sympathetically. "Pregnancy brain. It's common. Though your distraction might belong to something else. Have you heard from Remus at all?" she asks, averting her eyes with as much stealth as a Hippogriff at the dinner table.

Tonks gratefully accepts the mug Molly hands her way, stirring the contents with a whispered spell from her wand before she answers. "He's owled to tell me he's alive at least."

Molly takes the seat beside her. "And have you responded?"

"Only to let him know the same. I don't know what to say to him right now. I can't do this alone. I don't _want_ to do this alone. But if all he wants is to ship me off into hiding, how is that any different."

"Oh, dear. He just wants you to be safe." Molly pats her hand. "You have to understand, he's lived through all this before. With James. With Lily. Only now he has much more to lose."

Tonks feels herself deflate. She'd never thought it through quite like that. It still doesn't change how she feels. She still isn't going to crawl under some rock somewhere and wait out this mess, not knowing if Remus is alive or dead. What of their friends survive. That isn't her.

But maybe she needs to be more understanding. This must feel like a nightmare for him, one he's lived through and carried his entire life, only to walk right into it all over again. How terrible it must be to watch those same things happen: people disappear, die, families be torn apart. How terrible it must be to love someone so much when the chance of losing them to darkness is so high.

Tonks looks up at Molly then. This woman who loves so deeply, gives so much of herself to a family that she's so terrified of losing. Somehow her and Arthur make it work. They'd survived the first war, and Remus and her would survive this one.

Tonks writes to Remus that night and tells him these things. She tells him that she still won't go into hiding. She tells him that she loves him. Then she writes about Teddy. About all the things that have changed, even in that last few weeks, and about how terrified she is of losing them both. But that's no excuse for not trying.

She doesn't beg him to come back.

Only tells him to come back when he's ready.

Remus turns up on the door step the next night. He's shaggy and dishevelled, his hair longer than she's seen it in a while, the shadow of beard dark across his jaw. She wants to kiss him. To fold herself into his arms and surround herself with his scent and never let go.

She doesn't though. Not yet. Just stares at him as he stares at her, eyes flicking down to her stomach, to the bulge that's become so obvious in the last few weeks.

He fights the turn of his lips as a smile pulls at his face. Finally, he says, "I'm sorry."

Tonks steps aside and Remus enters, closing the door behind him with far more care than necessary. And she knows it means he's not here to fight anymore. He's always been visceral. Reacting to the environment in an effort to keep his emotions at bay. Maybe it's the wolf in him. The physical interaction conveying as much as what is said and unsaid. Tonks has learned to read this from him. Learned to pick up on the habits he performs unaware. Despite herself though, she asks, "Are you?"

He nods emphatically. "I didn't mean that I regretted him, Dora. Or us. Only the timing. I wish things could be better." He presses his hands to her stomach, unable to resist. "That we could enjoy this without fear of who's watching."

"Well there isn't anything we can do about that."

"And I don't wish too, truly. I only wish that the world was a better place for Teddy to grow up in."

"We'll just have to manage the best we can."

Remus tilts her chin up. "We will. And you'll be a great Mum. And I'll work on this Dad thing. Maybe the second time around it'll be easier."

"Second time?" Tonks' lips curl up.

"Well, you know . . . someday. Maybe. If Teddy's not too much of a handful and if you want—"

She kisses him hard on the lips then, giving into that last bit of temptation, hands wrapped around his neck and threading into his hair. She kisses him until they're sharing the last bits of oxygen of the same breath. Until she's sated and sure; he responds in kind, erasing all the hurts of the past few weeks, ensuring her that he's missed her as much as she's missed him.

"Where did you go, Remus?" she asks as she pulls away, hands tightening against his robes.

"I went to Grimmauld Place. The Death Eaters are staking it out."

"Did Mrs. Black scream some sense into you?"

"No, but Harry did."

Tonks stills completely and whispers, "You saw Harry?"

"He's on a mission of some sort. I offered to go with him. To help."

Tonks swallows.

"He turned me down. I think it's because he knew I didn't really mean it. I mean I do, I want to help him. I'd do anything. But not when I still have things to do here. And I think he knew that. Hermione wishes you her best. They're all excited about Teddy."

Tonks swallows again, this time against the sting of tears. "I wish we could help them more."

"We are. We're here. Still fighting. That's what Harry needs right now more than anything. Our support. And you need mine. I promise to do better by you, Dora." He holds her face between his palms. "I swear."


	38. Chapter 38

**A/N: ****So, I just want to thank anyone that's still reading this tale even though I let it fall by the wayside for quite some time. Good news is this story will be tied up in another 2-3 chapters which should be up by the end of the weekend if not sooner. The next chapter really just acts as a passage of time. We cover a series of months in this one, so I apologize in advance if it feels choppy.**

* * *

As the weeks pass, fall turns to winter. November is frigid by the ocean, but the air is crisp and clear. Tonks is well into her fifth month of pregnancy now and because of the weather, has a permanent sniffle.

"It's just a cold, Remus," she insists when he pulls her away from the window again. His fretting has become constant as of late. She thinks it's because her bump has become so much more visible. It's a constant reminder that Teddy grows inside her every day. A constant reminder that they're fighting for so much more than just themselves.

She lets him have his worry though and indulges his fretting because there isn't much else for him to do. The work with the Order has died down. They're waiting for the next move from Voldemort's side. All they can do now is gather recruits and being a wanted man, Remus isn't high up on that list.

"Dora," he says, snapping her out of her daze as he passes her a jumper. It's his. Completely too big for her everywhere but the belly. "Please, for me."

"Oh, alright," she says, slipping it over her head, "but I'm not wearing those itchy socks again."

Another week passes and though she's insisted on accompanying him and Charlie to each of their Potter Watch meetings, nothing out of the ordinary happens. They are joined on several occasions by Lee Jordan, a friend of Fred and George who takes up his new anti-Ministry position with great enthusiasm.

He's funny and charismatic and sometimes it's easy to forget the whole reason they're doing this—the war.

Potter Watch has become the easiest way to contact people, to spread messages about Voldemort's movements, and seek help.

Remus takes to it with vigour, scouring papers for news, even venturing into Diagon Alley under disguise to pick up tidbits here and there. Tonks despises those mornings, waiting for his return, but she supposes it's no different than when she was working. Still, her heart hammers a little harder when he's not around.

* * *

The nausea Tonks faced in the earlier months of her pregnancy is completely gone now and she finds that her appetite has skyrocketed. Thank Merlin for Molly because Tonks can't help but feel that she's going to eat Remus into an early grave at this point.

But despite the fact Molly keeps reminding her she's eating for two, the speed at which she now outgrows her clothes continues to alarm her. She's never had a problem fitting into things before. Being able to morph away a little extra weight here or there when the occasion called for it has always been her specialty, but now, with Teddy occupying her middle, there's absolutely nothing she can do about it. And even though the thought makes her grin because it means Teddy is growing and healthy and hopefully, happy, she's cycling through her pants faster that a Firebolt rides.

After giving up with the button at her waistline again she groans and leaves the bathroom, flopping down onto the bed next to Remus. He's spread out on his back, propped against the headboard, with a section of the Prophet and his morning toast.

He offers her some but she pushes it away. "My jeans don't fit," she huffs.

"Well, you could just walk around in your knickers," Remus suggests with a wry grin. "I wouldn't mind in the least."

"As tempting as that is," she says, pressing a kiss to his shoulder, "I think Molly would probably say something when we showed up to lunch."

"Or perhaps not. I feel like she's been here, done that, you know?"

Tonks chuckles, but the sound trails off into a gasp as her hand shoots to her stomach, eyes pulled wide with excitement.

"What is it?" Remus hurries to ask, scurrying up by her side.

"I think he just moved."

"Like a kick?"

She shakes her head. "It felt sort of fluttery. Like a butterfly."

Remus looks thoughtful as he runs his fingers along her stomach. "Maybe he'll be a Beater."

"Yes," Tonks muses. "We'll make a Quidditch player out of him yet."

* * *

They're at Molly's for Christmas Eve. So is her mother. It's strange without her dad and Tonks doesn't want to cry (she feels like doing that all the time now).

But she still breaks down for a minute in the middle of the yard, standing in the snow and sobbing into Remus' chest until his hands on her back soothe her into quiet.

"I'm sorry," she mumbles against his coat.

"Nothing to apologize for, love."

"I don't know why I'm crying."

"Let's go inside. Your lips are turning blue."

She swipes at her eyes, cursing these whiplash emotions as a bubble of cheer engulfs her when they push inside the Burrow and Molly plies Tonks with everything on the stove top. Twice.

There's warmth and laughter, but underneath it all is a sinking dread that eclipses everything now. At one point, Tonks curls up on the small sofa by the fire, right next to Ginny and they talk for a long while.

The girl's gaunt and thin, more so that she's ever seen before.

Hogwarts is a mess right now she finds out. Communication has been sparse over the school year and most of what Ginny sends out is being read and modified, so it's no wonder Molly's in a right fit over the state of her daughter.

There's been talk about not letting her return after Christmas, but Ginny insists that will only cause more problems.

The Carrows are running loose on the students, but from what Tonks hears Ginny seems to be holding her own. Her pure blood status still counts for something despite being a Weasley, so she's escaped most things unscathed. Still, Tonks worries over the girl, who reminds her so much of herself, with a strength and sense of duty probably born of being the youngest in a family full of boys. They talk of Harry and Hermione and Ron. They talk of Teddy. They also talk of how fast kids are disappearing from Hogwarts, some being pulled by their parents, and others never having made it at the beginning of the year.

"The train stopped for a few minutes right before we pulled into King's Cross," Ginny says, staring down at her Butterbeer. "Luna never got off at the station."

The weight in Tonks' stomach turns even as she schools her features and forces a sympathetic smile. "Don't worry too much, Gin. She'll be alright."

"I hope so."

When dinner is put away (or packed up to go home with her and Remus) Molly pulls out dessert and ushers everyone through the kitchen again.

Tonks as per usual knocks something off one of the counters with her elbow, and though she'd like to blame it entirely on the stomach, her belly was nowhere near the dish this time.

"Oh, Molly, I'm sorry," she fuses as the older witch sweeps her wand across the floor, bits of glass and pudding rolling into a pile by their feet. "I didn't think it was possible for me to get any more clumsy."

"It's just the pregnancy, dear," Molly insists. "No harm done. No one's really fond of Muriel's treacle anyway, but she sends it every year. I think it's just to torture me."

Molly pulls her in to kiss her cheek.

They leave the festivities early that night. Tonks is exhausted and with the full moon just two days away, Remus can already feel the ache in his joints.

They arrive home under a flurry of snowflakes and Remus pulls her inside, sighing at the sight of Christmas tree lit up in the corner of the living room, fairylights glowing bright.

"What are you thinking about?" she asks as a wistful smile pulls at his face.

"Just something Sirius said to me once."

"What?"

"For me to remember to send him a Christmas card; you know, from the two of us. Not to forget his poor old bachelor self. I think he always knew we'd end up together."

Tonks hums a smile. "He did have his moments when he was almost brilliant," she concedes with a grin. "I guess we should add one for dad now, too. And maybe Mad-Eye and Dumbledore."

Remus nods. "All the good people we've lost along the way."

Tonks nestles her head against his chest. "Think they know we're still fighting?"

"Yes. I'd count on it."

She sleeps on her side that night, a pillow between her knees, with Remus at her back. He draws circles at the small of her back with his fingers while she drifts off and though the day's been laced with worry and fear, she's happy.

* * *

When she wakes in the mornings now she's always a little stiff and sometimes it takes her a moment before she can muster enough energy to roll out of bed. Her joints ache and her muscles pop and there's a constant pressure at the base of her spine.

"Back sore?" Remus asks. He's already dressed, standing in the doorway. His hair is windswept and Tonks wonders if he's already been out to visit the Burrow or Shell Cottage or maybe even Hagrid in the mountains to wish everyone an official Happy Christmas.

She shakes her head. "Just a twinge." Mustering enough strength to prop herself up, she crawls to the edge of the bed and lets her body adjust.

Remus comes around behind her, crawling across the comforter and places his hands against her shoulders. He flattens his palms and they spread across her shoulder blades, fingers pressing into tight muscle. When his hands skim down her spine, pressing against the coils that form there she lets out a relieved sigh and if she didn't know any better, she'd think this was another kind of magic.

Despite having seen her at the Burrow, they spend most of the day at her mother's.

It's just a quiet thing.

Tea and cakes and Christmas presents that make Tonks cry again.

They're mostly things for Teddy who will be arriving in a few short months. Blue knitted blankets and tiny hats and even a little stuffed wolf that even manages to choke Remus up.

It takes Tonks the better part of an hour to stop tearing. "Hormones," she blubbers as she hugs her mother.

"Ah, I remember it well," Andromeda sighs. "There were days your father refused to come near me for fear of setting me off."

"Really?"

"Yes. Mostly they were happy tears though. I'd lost so much when I left with your father. Don't get me wrong, I loved him, but to be with him I had to turn away from my family, and however deranged and misguided they turned out to be, they were still my family. I felt as if I had lost a part of myself. But knowing that you were growing inside me, that you'd be there to love, and to love me back, it was overwhelming. And you were so receptive to your father's voice. Sometimes I swear you were tap dancing on my bladder."

"Speaking of," Tonks says, placing her mug down on the coffee table and excusing herself to use to loo.

She crosses the room to the staircase and gets as far as the sixth stair before she grabs the railing and has to sit down.

Remus is up out of his chair in an instant, but Tonks puts her hand up and shakes her head. "Just out of breath . . . Think I need to sit for a minute."

"Don't worry, Remus. It's normal." Andromeda taps his shoulder. "Make her some more tea. She'll be fine." She turns to Tonks. "I couldn't even walk up the stairs while I was pregnant with you without getting winded. And we just had the one flight. I think of poor Molly and all those stairs in the Burrow. I don't know how she ever managed it."

"I'm starting to feel like a potato," Tonks says, staring down at her feet. "I can't do anything."

"Darling, you're carrying a child around. It's a lot of work."

"Well, I'm just not used to not being able to do my work, that's all."

"Soon he'll be here and then there will be plenty of work. Trust me. I don't think you slept for your first six months. Thought your father was going to go bald." She presses her lips together and a fleeting smile passes across her features. "He would be so proud of you."

* * *

In January the weather turns fierce and frigid and Remus only ventures out under disguise to retrieve his Wolfsbane potion.

He returns home empty handed, looking distraught.

"Remus?" she asks, placing her tea on the counter.

"The source I've been using for my Wolfsbane has disappeared," he says. "Looks like they've been run off by Death Eaters . . . or worse."

"Oh dear," she says as he comes around the counter, pulling her into a hug. She lets his scent fill her, chocolate and peppermint swirling through her senses until she's calm. "Well, I'll just make it myself. If I managed it in that cellar imagine what I'll be able to do with real supplies."

"But Dora the cost of the ingredients alone—"

"We'll manage just fine," she insists.

Remus bites his bottom lip. "I could go somewhere else to transform, somewhere far away from the cottage . . ."

"Don't you dare, Remus Lupin. And leave me here fretting all night."

His lips quirk up before he kisses her. "Now we wouldn't want that."

The preparation for the potion requires Tonks to break out her old cauldron and supplies as well as take a trip into Diagon Alley to retrieve the aconite.

Remus finds her in the front hall, retrieving her cloak and fumbling with her boots.

"What are you doing?"

"Charming my boots," she says. She has her feet tucked up under her as she sits on the floor, a mask of concentration on her face. "My feet are swollen and they're too tight now."

"Maybe we should just get you some more sensible shoes."

"Boots are very sensible," she argues.

"And very Tonks like."

She spies the dragon fang charms hanging from the laces and sighs. "Shall I charm them into trainers then?"

"The less attention you draw to yourself the better, love."

"I know," she answers lamely. She finishes with her boots, which are now shoes, kisses Remus on the cheek and proceeds to Apparate from the front step.

She goes alone because Remus is wanted and there are so many Death Eaters roaming around he'd likely be snatched up in the middle of the day, even under disguise.

When she returns home he hugs her for so long on the couch that for a few minutes sleep threatens to take her.

When he lets her go she looks up, blinking through blurry lashes, and tells him about the streets. About the silver masked wizards that roam. About the empty store fronts. About the Snatchers that are guarding the entrance to Knockturn Alley.

"You can hardly tell the difference between the two now," she mutters under her breath. "Good wizard from a bad wizard. Who do people turn to for help?"

"I know it's hard to see," Remus says, having experienced all this before. "And I know it goes against everything you've been taught to fight for."

"Well, I've also learned to fight for you, so how about we get started on that potion, hmm? Before I take a kip."

"You start the potion and I'll make you lunch." He reaches for her hand to pull her from the couch.

"Deal." She sucks in a sharp breath suddenly and for a moment Remus thinks he's squeezed just a tad too hard. But then: "Remus, here. Feel. He's kicking!"

There's a scramble of hands and clothes, then Remus is beaming down at her. "Definitely a beater," he says, eyes crinkled in awe. "He's going to be a firecracker like his mother."

* * *

After seven months of pregnancy Tonks is starting to feel like she'll be pregnant forever. Teddy is big enough now to poke and prod at her insides, making something as simple as finding a comfortable position on the couch impossible.

Though, when she massages her belly she's greeted with small kicks in return and sometimes Teddy's kind enough to shove into a corner and sleep so she can make good use of her time.

Or at least that's what she tells herself when she's catching up on the latest Quidditch stats.

"What are you doing?" she asks as Remus carries boxes across the living room.

"We can't store all this in the nursery, unless you plan to keep Teddy in the box with all my dad's old vinyls."

"Nursery?"

"Yes, love. For the baby. The one that will be here very soon." He bends over the back of the couch and kisses her forehead.

And though she feels like it's been forever, she's certainly not ready for there to be a nursery. She's not ready to be a Mum at all.

"Do you want to do everything in blue?" Remus asks. "Or is that too mainstream for you?"

Tonks feels her brows pinch together and she starts to cry.

"Love? What is it?" Remus drops the boxes by his feet, coming around the couch, the look of concern intensifying as she sobs into her hands. "Dora?"

"I'm fine," she stammers. "Stupid hormones. I don't even know why I'm crying."

Remus wraps his arms around her and chuckles into her hair. "It's a good cry then I hope?"

"I don't even know," Tonks admits. Remus just hugs her tighter.

* * *

By the time month eight rolls around, Tonks is feeling restless.

"I'm fat. This kid needs to get out already."

"You're not fat, Dora. You're pregnant."

"I am."

"You're beautiful."

"You're obligated to say that."

"So what if I am? It's true." Remus rolls closer to her, stretching out on the bed against the length of her body and nuzzles at her chest, swollen now. She's tender, but she arches against his touch, buzzing with sensation that fizzles around her belly button, sending tremors lower and lower. She moans and Remus halts his ministrations, looking up at her under raised brows. "Is there something you'd like more of, Mrs. Lupin?"

"Uh . . ." She arches again as his hand ghosts down her stomach, tracing lines against her inner thigh. "Don't tease, Remus. Please."

She bites her bottom lip as he kisses his way down her stomach, tongue stopping and tracing the line of her pants. The anticipation in her gut is too much and it has her tugging insistently on his hair.

"Is this what you want, Dora?"

"Yes," she moans, breath heavy in the air. "Yes, _please_."

He maneuvers her closer to the headboard, propping pillows under her limbs to make her comfortable as his fingers curl below the waistband of her pants, tugging gently and exploring all the places that make her toes curl. When she's both breathless and boneless Remus crawls up to reach her face, pressing a flurry of kisses into her neck. "I love you, Dora. So, so, much."

"I know," she says, smiling up at him, feeling pleasantly dizzy and sated. "I love you, too."

* * *

By the ninth moth Tonks is bordering on uncomfortable. It's March and the weather's starting to get nice again, but she's taken a sudden dislike to everything, including the smell of the sea.

Her body's also stretching in ways that it shouldn't, at least according to her anatomy. Remus on the other hand says it's completely normal. But if her chest gets any bigger she's seriously going to get annoyed.

Between that and her stomach she's starting to feel front end heavy, especially when she first stands up.

She almost topples out of bed one morning and Remus has to grab hold of her waist. "Center of gravity is off, huh?" he says, doing his best not to chuckle because she's become irritable in this last month.

"Maybe just a little," she concedes with a huff. He helps her up with a gentle push and she toddles towards the bathroom. "Seriously, if I spend any more time in the loo I'm going to move in here permanently."

"Practical, but I don't think you'd enjoy taking your tea in there."

"Har har," she says, turning to smirk at him over her shoulder. She does her business, washes her hands and returns to the bed, climbing into place with some expected difficulty. Teddy chooses that moment to knock against her and her hand automatically flies out to the spot on her belly.

"He's really moving now," Remus says, tossing the paper aside as he rolls towards her, hand folding over her own. "Getting restless maybe?"

"I feel like he's up in my lungs. Help me sit up, huh?"

For most of her final month of pregnancy she's too uncomfortable to make it out to the Potter Watch broadcasts, but she listens to the enchanted radio from her spot on the couch, the sound of Remus' voice lulling her to sleep most nights.

She perks up when she hears the word POTTER though, catching the highlights.

"Harry is still alive . . . rallying point for the resistance . . . . trust his instincts because he's nearly always right," she hears Remus say.

Lee Jordan goes on to add that Xenophilius Lovegood has been arrested and that Hagrid avoided arrest after hosting a support Harry party in his house. That last one makes her grin and she doesn't remember falling asleep, but she wakes up in the comfort of their bed with Remus wrapped around her and for the time she's content.

* * *

Her labour begins swiftly one afternoon in early April. She feels liquid pool by her feet and immediately is thrown into some kind of contraction coming down the hallway towards the living room.

"Remus," she gasps.

"Dora?" He looks around the corner of the kitchen, eyes dawning with realization.

"Floo my Mum," Tonks grits out. "Tell her to meet me at St. Mungo's."

Remus rushes forward and helps her to the couch where she promptly doubles over and if it weren't for the fact that she is gripping his hands hard enough to sever his fingers, he would have thrown the Floo powder into the fireplace and dragged Andromeda through by her hair, but Tonks' grip is relentless and his heart is pounding so hard he fears he's having some sort of attack.

Oh Merlin, he's not ready for this.

But they've worked it out. There's no way he can be there, as much as he wants to. He'd be carted off to Azkaban by the Death Eaters before he ever got to meet Teddy, and that's not what any of them need right now. So Andromeda will do it. She'll be there for Tonks when he can't.

"Remus!" she says suddenly, squeezing his hand, crumpling off the couch by his feet. She gasps, her face contorting in a way he's never seen and she bites her lip hard enough to draw blood.

He's not an expert by any means, but he's read enough to know that contractions usually don't progress this fast.

They should have time.

He bends by her side, hands on her shoulders as she cowers into him, her nails digging into his skin.

Maybe it's the morphing. Her body's always been different when it came to these sorts of things. It protected Teddy against the odds and now it was apparently ready to fire him out.

"Ah!" she cries, hunching over again. "Remus, I—"

He helps her to settle back into the couch and kneels by her feet, sending off a Patronus to Andromeda. They're not going to make it to the hospital. Whatever happens now, Teddy's going to be born right here at home.

Andromeda shows up less than two minutes later, bag and supplies in hand. She bends to press a kiss to Tonk's sweaty forehead. "I should have known this was going to happen," she tuts. "You always were difficult."

* * *

Ten little toes and ten little fingers and a shock of brilliant blue hair. That's Teddy.

"He's perfect," Remus says, his voice thick as he holds his son close. There's a tremble in his limbs that he hasn't been able to shake since seeing Teddy for the first time. It's excitement and nerves and energy. It's also love. "Just perfect," he repeats. After a minute he passes him back to Tonks.

"He looks like you," she whispers, tracing Teddy's puckered lips and button nose.

Remus sits on the bed by her side. "You think?"

"Yes." She looks up and blinks at Remus sleepily. Her hair is still damp from the delivery, sweat pooled along her brow. But her hair is vivid, _vivid_ pink, and despite being thoroughly exhausted, she's positively glowing. Remus doesn't think she's ever been more beautiful. She cracks a grin when Teddy opens his eyes, scrunching up his nose to give a little wail. "But we should probably take a picture," she insists. "If he's anything like me it might be months before we see these features again."

"He does have your penchant for colour," Andromeda says, coming into the room with a soft blue blanket and a very tiny jumper.

Tonks laughs, stroking her hand through Teddy's hair.

"He's beautiful, Nymphadora," Andromeda fusses. "Just like his mother."

"Worth every bit of effort," Tonks agrees. She passes the baby back off into Remus' waiting arms.

He positively beams at the weight of Teddy's little limbs. "Oh, I promised Bill I'd let them know when it happened," he says suddenly.

"Go, tell them then," Tonks says. "They'll be at Shell Cottage today. Molly's in spring cleaning mode so no one will go within ten feet of the Burrow."

Smiling so wide his cheeks stretch, Remus jumps to his feet.

"Remus, wait!"

He turns back to her.

"Leave the baby."

"Oh, right." He returns Teddy to the cradle Tonks makes of her arms, pressing a flurry of kisses to her forehead and then he's off, grabbing his cloak from the stand by the front door and ushering towards the property line.

Remus is really only gone for a quarter of an hour, but the time spent away from his family might as well have been decades.

He pushes back inside the cottage, locking the door and scaling the stairs to the upper level, in the time it usually takes him to hang his cloak.

Tonks is laid out in the middle of the bed, half propped on the pillows, a sleeping Teddy curled up on her chest.

She's not exactly sleeping from what Remus can tell, but in a sort of trance as she strokes a line down Teddy's back.

His steps are light as he enters the room, but Tonks' eyes flutter up at his presence.

"How'd it go?" she asks, blinking sleepily at him. Immediately he regrets disturbing her.

"Everyone wishes you well." Remus sits gingerly on the edge of the bed, afraid the dip in the mattress will wake his sleeping son, but the baby dreams on. He smiles at the low whistling sound Teddy makes as he breathes. "Harry was there with Hermione and Ron."

Tonks pulls her eyes away from Teddy, alert now. "Were they well? Did you speak with Harry much?"

"Some. They looked well. Perhaps a little stressed and worried, but that's expected of everyone now, especially them."

"Did you ask him about being Godfather?"

Remus smiles. "Yes."

"And?"

"He said yes."

"Brilliant."

Remus leans over to kiss her cheek, then her lips. "You're brilliant. Now get some rest. If my knowledge of newborns is correct this silence won't last much longer."

Tonks yawns, snuggling against Remus as he spreads out and fits close to her side, providing support. "We'll have to take him to see Molly later. She'll never let us forget it if she's the last one to know."

"After you sleep some."

She tips her head against his chest and after five minutes her breathing steadies, not quite matching the quick drawn of Teddy's breath, but somehow still in tune. And Remus watches them in disbelief, still unable to grip the fact that this is his family now.


	39. Chapter 39

**A/N: This one's short and sweet. Really just tying things up for the final chapter. Enjoy :)**

* * *

The first four weeks of Teddy's life seem to fly by. Granted, Remus finds himself much more sleep deprived now, and maybe that's why the days bleed into nights without warning, but he wouldn't change it for anything.

That is until Dora returns from the Burrow one afternoon, having met with Kingsley, looking positively worried and then he'd sell his soul just to unhear what she's told him.

"Kingsley wants you to return to work?" he repeats, still not quite believing.

Tonks licks her lips, fighting to convince herself just as much as him. She doesn't want to leave Teddy yet. But there's a war going on. A war they need to win if Teddy has any chance of growing up in a world where he can be happy and free. "We need to know what's going on inside the Ministry," she says.

She reaches for Teddy and Remus hands him over. There's something calming about the way she rubs her hand against his back.

"But so soon?" he asks.

Tonks looks back over her shoulder at him, her lips pressed against the baby's head. "It's been a month since Teddy was born."

"But is this really a good idea? Sending you back inside that place now that it's compromised. You know I'm still a wanted fugitive. You're telling me they're not going to drag you in for questioning. They must know by now that you're my wife."

Tonks sighs. "I'll say I haven't seen you since before the Muggle-born break out. You're on the run."

"That's a risk, Dora."

"Everything is a risk now, Remus. Staying cooped up here, blind to the outside is a risk."

Remus swallows whatever argument he feels because he can see the tears well up in her eyes. "When does he want you to report back?"

"I've sent my letters off today," she whispers, swaying a little as Teddy snuggles against her shoulder. "I just have to wait for a reply from the department head."

* * *

Her first day back is a complete disaster. She's almost late because she couldn't bear to put Teddy down and Remus almost had to shove her out the door despite asking her not to go multiple times.

There's a new order to the madness that is the Auror department and Tonks finds herself on high alert as a myriad of eyes follow her to her desk. They're one's she's never seen before.

The people she does recognize avoid her gaze as she walks by, heads bent over stacks of parchment. That's how it is now in the Ministry. Head down. Lay low.

She gives her head a quick little shake and her hair turns a discreet brown colour.

It's only a matter of time before the unfamiliar faces get curious though and Tonks finds herself eclipsed by a shadow as she files another report on a missing Muggle family.

"So you're the new face, doll? Heard there was young blood in the office." A hand slips down her arm in a caress, one that sends her stomach reeling.

Tonks feels a chill rip up her spine but she squares her shoulders, turning to find a man with dark eyes and slick black hair looming over her.

"I am no secretary," she says. "I'm an Auror. Touch me again and you'll be without a tongue."

After that she doesn't have any more visitors, though she half expects to be carted off to the cells she knows are in the basement.

Just after lunch Tonks returns to a flurry of commotion in the office as a pair of wizard officials surround the desk of one of her coworkers. He's an older Wizard. Quiet. She's never spoken to him before, but she's seen his face around the department enough to know that he's been here almost as long as she has.

"Finnis Legelis," one of the officials read out, "you've been accused of harbouring illegal creatures at your family estate. A trial will be held immediately before the present members of the Wizengamot to determine your charge."

Without warning they hoist him up by his arms, strong hands clamped over his shoulders.

"Wait!" he cries suddenly, looking around with wide eyes. Tonks has to look away to stifle the feeling of nauseous dread that bubbles up her throat. "Wait! The entire court has to be assembled first. There'll be no one here. No witnesses."

"There is one member to preside over the hearing. It is enough to begin."

"Who?" he asks, a shudder to his voice.

"Dolores Umbridge."

"No," Tonks whispers. Across the atrium Arthur appears, drawn in by the commotion like so many others. He shakes his head at her and she holds her tongue, her footing, just looks away.

She's never felt less like an Auror in her life.

When she returns home that evening it's with a defeated sigh.

"Dora, you're early. Is . . . is everything alright?"

"No, it's not, Remus." She shakes her head. "Not at all."

Remus crosses the room and brings Teddy, letting his free arm wrap around her before passing the baby over. "Did something happen?"

Tonks strokes a line across Teddy's forehead. "It's just changed is all. The people, they're afraid. And no one's safe now, least of all the Ministry employees."

"Who was it?" Remus asks, his voice low.

"I didn't know him, only that he was one of us. One of the good ones. They dragged him away from his desk, just like that. No one did anything. Just ignored it. They're terrified."

"Dora, did you—"

"No. I panicked. Every part of me was screaming to take my wand out, but looking at the others, their fear . . . all I could think about was you and Teddy. And I couldn't do my job."

"Dora, you didn't sign up for what's happening now."

"No, Remus, but that's what an Auror does: protects innocent people from Dark Wizards. The only problem is the Ministry's full of them now and they have the upper hand." She looks down at her feet. "It's all falling apart and nothing makes sense."

"Come here," he says, closing his arms around them both. "We make sense," he tells hers. "This little family we have. This beautiful baby boy you had. There may not be a lot of it, love, but there is still good in this world and we owe it to Teddy to keep fighting for it."

Tonks sighs. "He deserves to grow up in a better place."

"Perhaps," Remus agrees. "Though the loving arms of his parents isn't a bad place to start."

And this is why she loved Remus so, because he could make her see the light in even the darkest of places. As if on cue, Teddy's hair turns a vibrant shade of yellow.

"Oh, darling," Tonks whispers, running her thumb against Teddy's cheek. "That is definitely not your colour. We'll have to talk about this when you're older."

Remus laughs. "Do you expect him to be corrupted by his wild hair choices at a young age?"

Tonks raises a brow and leans away to look at him seriously. "Why d'you think my hair's still pink?"

* * *

Though they have each other and in any other world that would be enough, the wizarding world continues to crumble under Voldemort's new regime.

Dark hooded Death Eater's frequent the Ministry in hordes and Tonks takes to morphing her appearance just to fly under the radar.

It's become dangerous just to walk outside now and every moment of the day is spent in some sort of adrenaline fueled fear until she returns home to Remus and Teddy.

It's on a Friday afternoon that she hears rumours trickle through the office regarding Arthur Weasley. He's scheduled to be pulled in for questioning that afternoon regarding the illegal harbouring of known fugitives.

Whatever charges the Ministry intends to lay down, there will be no trial, no justice. No fair treatment.

Tonks flies from her cubicle at lunch to warn Arthur.

He disappears from the Ministry shortly after.

Tonks gathers her things and checks out of work early, perhaps for the last time.

There will be fallout from this.

Where it will land she doesn't know.

* * *

That afternoon Remus enters their bedroom to find Tonks packing; a giant black rucksack is spread open on the bed, piled with neat arrangements of clothes. "Dora, what are you doing?"

"I think Teddy should stay with Mum for a while."

"What's going on?" he asks, following her path with his eyes. Dresser. Bed. Closet. Bed.

"Remus, things are bad at the Ministry. We both know _He's_ bound to make his move at any time. Kingsley suspects Hogwarts will be his target. We have to be ready."

"We? Dora—"

She stops, hands on her hips, and stares him down. "We're both part of the Order, Remus. They need us both."

"We have a son to think about now."

"Exactly. Which is why he should stay with Mum for a while."

Remus shakes his head violently, taking a step towards her. "No, Dora. No! This is not happening. You are not going anywhere. _You_ are his mother."

Tonks turns back to her packing. "And you're his father. Why does that give you any more right than I to risk your life?"

"You're being ridiculous, Dora," he says, temper flaring.

She sighs, rubbing her hand over her eyes. "And you're being unreasonable."

"Unreasonable because I'd prefer our child didn't grow up an orphan?"

"This isn't about that," Tonks argues, turning back around to face him. "This is because I'm a woman and you think my place is here with Teddy."

"Alright, fine. Yes, you have no business risking your neck. Is that what you want to hear?" Remus whirls around and hammers his fist against the wall on his way out the room; Tonks sees as the plaster caves under his fist, his strength already not his own. There's six hours until the moon, but the wolf already stirs inside him, drawn awake by the pull.

"Really," Tonks mutters after him. She tries a charm on the wall, something to pretty it up, but her household spells are weak at best and the wallpaper makes a half-hearted attempt at rethreading itself before finally giving up and curling outwards. Instead Tonks drags the end table below it and sticks a vase of almost dead tulips in the way.

Remus returns later to find Tonks seated in the rocking chair, Teddy on her shoulder, snoozing soundly. She looks up under pink bangs. Her eyes are more curious then they are upset.

"I'm sorry," he says and she shakes her head. "It's just the―"

"I know. The moon."

"Not just that," he says. He crosses the room and takes Teddy from her, laying him down in the bassinet in the corner of the room. He turns back to her, hands reaching for hers and pulls her into his arms. He doesn't want to go into the cellar tonight feeling this way. "I can barely watch you leave the house in the mornings now, knowing where you're going every day and who you're surrounded with. It kills me, but I know if I make you stay they'll just come looking and that would be worse. So I let you go every morning and hold my breath until I hear you walking up the steps at night. You can't ask me to do that when _He_ finally makes his move."

"And you can't ask me to do that either, Remus. To watch you walk away and not know if you'll return."

"I will, Dora. I promise."

"But you don't know that."

He fixes the hole in the wall with a silent spell and a wave of his hand.

She's always been impressed with his wandless magic. A little jealous even.

"So what do we do?" he asks.

"I don't know. I don't think there's a compromise either of us will agree to."

He smiles a little, just a tiny curve of his lips. "If only you weren't so stubborn."

"If only you weren't such a noble prat."

His eyes soften then, and he scoops her into his arms before either of them thinks it through. His lips are on hers and she's melting against him, into him, fighting to free the buttons on the collar of his shirt as he presses her into the bed.

"I don't know what to do," he whispers against her skin. It's almost broken and her heart hurts to hear it.

"We'll figure it out, love. But not tonight."

She's holding his face, her forehead resting against his. She feels him nod and then he's kissing her again, down the side of her face, nibbling along her jawline. They don't say anything else about it that night. Just before the moon comes Remus kisses her deeply and strokes Teddy's face, leaving the house for the cellar where he will change.

Walking away from them that night feels like one of the hardest things he's ever had to do, though he knows harder decisions are coming.


	40. Chapter 40

It's been six weeks since Teddy was born and Tonks is still amazed that her hands wrap around the entirety of his little frame, fingers interlacing at his back when she picks him up. To think she carried this little piece of herself and Remus around inside her for months is overwhelming, especially now that he's here.

She's got a constant kind of ache in her chest when she looks at him: a good ache bubbling up and over with emotion. She also has this fierce desire to protect. And she worries now about every little thing that may come to pass, that may bring him harm and there are a lot of those things in the world right now.

More than anything she just wants to disappear with Teddy and Remus. Whisk them away somewhere they can't be found, where the trials of the world can't touch them.

But that's impossible now.

Tonks floats around the room, Teddy on her shoulder, watching the sun dip on the horizon.

"It'll be a nice day tomorrow," Remus says, eyes lifting over the front of the Prophet. "Bright."

"Mmm," Tonks hums, swaying on the spot with Teddy.

The enchanted radio in the corner of the room crackles with incendiary pops that pulls Teddy's attention and leaves him staring curiously around the room. Murmurs and hums pass across the station that otherwise remains quiet.

Quiet is good.

She's just releasing the nervous breath she inhaled when the radio buzzes to life again, this time a voice coming through, as clear as the tide under the sun. "Lightning has struck! I repeat. Lightning has struck!"

Remus looks up from the paper suddenly. He's on his feet in an instant, crossing the room to play with the volume, waiting out the static until the message is repeated.

Tonks holds Teddy closer. "Did he just say―"

"Do you think―"

"Harry's at Hogwarts," Tonks agrees. "It's happening."

"Take Teddy to your mother's. Stay there." Remus turns from the radio and bolts up the stairs, taking them two at a time.

Tonks scoops Teddy higher on her shoulder and follows.

She rushes to Teddy's room and lays him down in his crib before returning to the hall. It's empty now, but the shuffling of feet echoes from their room. She turns into the doorway to find Remus rummaging through drawers, pulling on his dark green jacket. "Remus, you just passed the moon a fortnight ago," Tonks protests. "You can't expect me to be okay with you running off. You're tired still. Weaker than you would normally be."

"I'm well enough for this," he says.

"And so am I."

"Dora, please," he begs, hands squeezing her shoulders. "There isn't time."

"Then stop wasting it," she insists. "Stop making this about your male pride."

"It's about not wanting to lose you, Dora."

"So I'm supposed to be okay with losing you?"

"Love—"

"No—"

"I won't risk it." His wand is against her stomach, his hands twitch with unused magic. She knows he could cast a spell or a charm. Something that will leave her frozen in time until he can return.

"Don't you dare!" she threatens, voice cold and icy and far more Black than it ever is.

Remus swallows hard, eyes flicking from his wand to her face. There's pain in his eyes, but fierce determination, too. He'll do it to keep her safe. "Don't make me then," he whispers. "Take Teddy and go to your mother's."

Tonks reaches out slowly and pushes his hand away, tucking his wand arm back along his side. "Remus, I can make my own decisions."

"I have to do what's best for my family."

"What do you think I'm trying to do?"

"Teddy needs a mother. He needs you."

"He needs his father, too."

A wisp of silver smoke divides them as a Patronus soars through the room, taking a lap before landing lightly by their feet. It's a large bird, head tipped regally. The peacock paws at the ground with its hooked feet, scratching against the floor, before shaking the bushel of feathers and preening them into perfection. "Nymphadora! I'll expect you within the hour."

"You didn't!" she says, mouth open as she gapes at Remus.

"I'm sorry."

"You called my Mum?"

"I sent a Patronus when you left the room. Trust me, Dora. Everything is better this way."

"Remus, don't you da—" She's silenced by the swell of his lips, hot and heavy on hers, crushing the words from her mind, the anger from her chest. He's desperate in his touch, hands roaming her shoulders, her back, crawling up the sides of her neck to cup her face and tilt her head.

It's the kind of kiss she used to snigger at as a girl. The kind of kiss her dorm mates read about in Witch Weekly while she rolled her eyes and pelted dung bombs out the window.

But now, with Remus pressed so close, and the eve of battle looming near, it's the kind of kiss that steals her breath away, leaving her faint and wanting. She can't bear to watch him go, and he can't bear to know she's done anything else but stay.

"I know I've asked some hard things of you, Dora. But please just this one last thing. For me. Stay for me."

"Remus," she begins, her lips trembling, but nothing else comes because she already knows how this will end, with him squeezing her fingers between his and drawing them up to his mouth, lips ghosting across her knuckles.

"I love you," he tells her, pulling her flush, letting her bury her head against his jumper.

"Please be careful," she whispers, her arms making a tight loop around his waist. "Don't do anything foolish."

"I have two very compelling reasons not to."

In the background Teddy whines and Tonks looks on with desperate eyes, her attention shifting between her husband and the hall that will take her to where her son sleeps.

"Go on," Remus tells her. "Take him to your mother's. I'll send word when I can."

With her heart in her throat, Tonks manages to pry her hands away from Remus, manages to suck in the breath needed to carry her out of their bedroom and into the nursery. She's just pulling the tiny jumper over Teddy's head when she hears the sharp crack of Apparition.

Eyes heavy, she makes a swipe across her face, sweeping Teddy onto her shoulder with one hand and dabbing at her eyes with the other. It makes no difference. The tears fall regardless and by the time she arrives on her mother's doorstep she's a wreck and Teddy's jumper in damp.

"Oh, Dora," her mother sighs, ushering them inside.

"I can't do it, Mum," she says. "I can't just sit around and wait for news."

"I know, darling. You never were the type to sit around during a fight."

"Does it make me a bad mother?" she whispers.

"Why are you leaving him?"

"To make sure his father comes back home to him," Tonks says. "To make sure he gets to grow up in a world without war. Am I selfish to want that for him? To risk leaving him for it?"

"You're trying to do what's best for Teddy. If that's not what being a mother is all about than I've been doing it wrong this entire time. Now get yourself cleaned up and go and find that husband of yours. Teddy and I will hold down the fort here."

"You're sure you're alright with him?"

"Dora, I survived you. Now give me my grandson and go be a hero."

"That's not what I'm trying to be."

"I know," Andromeda says with a soft smile. "It's just what you are."

She kisses Tonks' forehead, before pulling Teddy from her arms. "Be safe, darling."

Tonks nods, runs a finger along Teddy's cheek, and before she can miss him, or regret her decision, rushes out the door and beyond the gate, Apparating so fast she forgets to breathe.

She lands in the middle of Hogsmeade, sucking in a breath as she wrenches the door open to the Hogshead.

Aberforth leans against the counter, polishing one of the perpetually filthy mugs. "Wondered when I'd be seeing you, girlie."

"Had a stop to make first."

"How's the little one?"

"Safe."

"Merlin, let's hope so. It's shaping up to be some kind of fight."

"Did Remus come through here?"

"And about every other Order member." Aberforth knocks against the wall. "Ariana will take you through." A shadow of a girl appears and the portrait swings open. Tonks clambers inside, nodding her thanks before rushing into the darkness.

Just when she thinks she'll be stumbling around the pitch black a second portrait spills open and she emerges into a safe house of some sort.

"Tonks!" Ginny greets, face red and eyes wide.

"Have you seen, Remus?" she blurts, looking around at the strung hammocks and charmed radio equipment. Everyone else is already gone from the room.

"He left a while ago, headed into the castle."

Tonks' eyes widen.

"Oh, Tonks. I'm sure he's fine—"

She's gone before Ginny can finish, darting past and out the door, wand drawn up by her head. The corridors are dark and the first thing she does is cast a light from the tip of her wand, scanning for movement in the shadows.

She makes it down two hallways before she comes upon the first bodies. They're shrouded in black robes, white death eater masks abandoned by their feet, so she doesn't stop. She doesn't care who, as long as they're dead.

As long as—

A flaming shock of familiar red hair comes into view as she rounds a corner. Charlie Weasley ducks down behind a banister rail, bailing away from a twisting, black curse. He's got a giddy kind of smile on his face as he fires back, whistling at his own handiwork. "That all you got, Mulciber?" he cajoles, even as the railing next to him is blown apart.

"Charlie!"

Tonks rushes up to greet him, sliding down to her knees to avoid a yellow spark and another exploding chunk of railing.

"What are you doing here?"

"Have you seen Remus?"

"You're not supposed to be here. What about the baby?"

"He's safe."

"Oh, Merlin, you didn't leave him with Ginny did you?"

"No, Charlie Weasley, I did not bring my son into the middle of a war torn Hogwarts. I do know better than that.

"I never thought you didn't, only suggested that you might not be thinking straight."

Tonks grabs the front of Charlie's robes and yanks him forward just a hair. It's far enough that the yellow jet of light only singes his hair.

"Oi!" he calls, rubbing the back of his head and throwing a curse over the side of the stairwell. It rumbles upon contact and leaves a gaping hole in the floor below, through which they can see the entrance to the great hall and a mangle of hairy black spiders.

"You were saying?"

"Really hope those things belong to Hagrid."

Tonks raises an eyebrow.

"Alright, you saved my life. No need to rub it in." He fires off another curse and it sends the masked Mulciber into the crowd of dark creatures. They lose him amongst the movement.

"Charlie!" she shouts, catching his attention. "Remus? Where is he?"

"Up to the tower bridge I think."

Tonks nods and jumps to her feet.

Charlie reaches out to clasp her hand. "Wait, Tonks—"

"I'll be alright. I know my way around."

"S'not that."

"You can't be everywhere at once, Charlie. Least of all trailing me around."

He catches her other hand as well. "Just . . . be careful, right? I don't want to see the look on Remus' face if something happens to you."

"I'm a big girl. Besides they need you here."

They peer out over a wall where an army of giants have amassed along the borders.

Charlie grimaces. "Kind of wish I brought some dragons."

Tonks gives him a generous smirk considering, and squeezes his arm before running off.

The fastest way to the tower bridge is blocked by a company of enchanted suits of armour, so Tonks has to backtrack the way she came. It's when she's rushing back around the last corner before reaching the room of requirement that Tonks runs into another red head.

"Tonks!"

"Gin, what are you doing out here? You're Mum is going to have a fit."

"Have you seen Harry? I've been looking everywhere and I can't find him."

"You shouldn't be here. You're not even of age."

"I can't sit around while my entire family fights this battle."

"Get in here," she says, hauling Ginny behind a tapestry and into a broom cupboard.

"Tonks—"

"No, you listen. I'm going to find a group and you're going to stay with them and hunker down. I can't watch you."

"I don't—"

"Don't do this to your Mum, Gin. Please. I don't have time to argue!"

"Fine. I'll go back inside the room of requirement."

"Even better idea." As she leaves Ginny outside the door, she can't help but feel the youngest Weasley doesn't mean to keep her promise, though how can she fault her when she disregarded the only thing Remus asked of her to keep her safe?

It's different, she assures herself. I'm an Auror. It's my duty.

But it's no different. Ginny's fighting for her family just the same.

Tonks skids to a halt, pulls the wing on a carved dragon statue and bolts up the staircase that appears in the wall.

It winds and whirls, turning and twisting at sharp angles, some of them so tight she has to shed her coat just to squeeze through.

Before long, she's tumbling out behind another statue, this one of a canting Centaur, marble bow aimed towards the skylight above. She's made it to the top of the Astronomy tower, and by the looks of things so has the battle.

There's a trail of debris to her left, the smoke so thick she's not even sure if the passage is useable. To her right she hears the fight rage on, desperate voices calling out in the dark.

She flies down the corridor, windowless openings whipping cool wind across her face. When she reaches the source of the noise she finds Kingsley engaged in battle. He sends a flurry of curses through a hole in the floor.

Above him more curses rain down, these ones spinning, the colours twisted. Remus, she thinks.

She follows the jets up and finds him there. When fire is returned he retreats from the bridge and into another stoned corridor. Tonks hurries to the end of the passage and up the flight of stairs, smoldering with black stone.

"Remus," she cries, seeing the edge of his robes disappearing between arches of stone.

The shadow falters and he returns, his face a show of disbelief. He crosses the distance and she meets him halfway at a run.

"What are you doing here? Teddy?" he asks, catching her as she wraps her arms around his neck.

"Will sleep till morning and snore like his father. It's you who'll need me tonight."

He looks down at her as her hands tangle into his sleeves, her eyes sound and determined.

"You shouldn't have come. I told you to stay behind, Dora."

Her hand slides against his cheek, halting the next string of protests. "For better or worse, remember?"

He jerks his head, his eyes flushed and heavy against the weight of the words. Against the sudden weight of the ring fitted around his finger.

And he wonders about all the if's.

If this is the last time: if he'll never feel the press of her lips against his skin, the fit of her hand in his, the slide of her hair between his fingers. If he'll never hear her laugh or giggle or curse Merlin. If he'll never catch the quick colour change of her eyes or hair or smile at the way she wrinkles her nose. If he'll never be on the receiving end of her fiery temper or irrevocable love. If he'll never face another moon knowing she's waiting for him when the sun comes up again.

"I do," he whispers.

He's about to drag her under cover of the tower when the ground beneath them shudders and explodes, a flurry of rock tumbling around them. A set of shield charms combine to cushion their landing, but when they dissipate, Remus still has no idea where his wife is.

He blasts a rock cementing the edge of his robes and climbs his way through the rubble pile, hoarse from screaming her name by the time she blasts her way from beneath a set of stones.

There are grey streaks of dust across her forehead and in her hair.

Another blast and the ceiling trembles, threatening to come down at any second.

"We need to get somewhere lower," he says, kicking his way through the rubble. "This place is coming down."

"They need help out on the grounds," Tonks says, using her wand to blast a path.

"Is security to the grounds compromised?" Remus asks. "If Voldemort has access to the grounds can the Death Eaters Apparate inside Hogwarts?"

"Those charms were always monitored by the Ministry. But now . . ."

"One way to find out." Remus reaches for her and pulls her close, tucking his arms around her back as they spin, choking on dust and fumes of destruction.

When Tonks opens her eyes again, it's to the sight of large set of feet.

Grawp is pulling statues from the interior of the castle and dropping them onto the hordes of spiders that roam the grounds.

"This way," Remus says, tugging her arm. "The courtyard."

The rush past battling giants and all manner of creatures that have left the safety of the forest, heading towards the bright jets of light that flash in the distance.

Tonks staggers when a high pitched cackle calls out her name, making the hair on the back of her neck stand on end.

The flash of green cuts into her field of vision a moment too late and she doesn't have time to react. She doesn't even have time to look at Remus.

But Remus sees and knows what the green means. He slashes his wand, a spell plowing into the earth and the tremor is enough to bring Tonks to her knees, pulling her out of range of the bright green spark.

His eyes turn to Bellatrix, dancing between the stone columns of the courtyard bridge and he sends a hurried flash of stunners her way. Tangles of black hair weave between the columns and once he's sure that Dora is okay, he races after her. She won't take anyone else from him. Not tonight. Not ever.

When Tonks recovers, she bolts after Remus, her pulse pounding behind her eyes. She fears the worst when she turns the corner to see Bellatrix fleeing across the grounds, her ungainly sprint leading her along the forests edge.

Tonks flails around in the darkness. "Remus!" she calls, eyes scanning desperately for a body. A shape against the ground. But there's nothing. Nothing—

"Lupin."

The sound comes as a growl, deep and throaty, echoing out behind her. Tonks slides down the embankment below the courtyard bridge, the slick grass pulling her back on her hands.

At the bottom of the hill she can make out Remus backed against the castle wall. Greyback advances on him.

He's got his wand aimed at Remus, twisted in his hand to strike. "Trading up in life, aren't I?" he growls. "Not so much of a pet, now. Avada—"

Tonks doesn't hesitate in her movement, just sends the offensive attack exploding from the tip of her wand.

Remus is caught off guard as the spell hits them from the side and he is blasted off his feet, his body colliding with the side of the castle. Everything is fuzzy and grey as he lands, limbs heavy, lungs catching sharply as he inhales.

"Remus, oh, Remus!" a voice says, small hands groping at his face, dragging his head up. "Please, please, please, no."

When his eyes flutter open the first thing he sees is Dora, his head pillowed in her lap. Her smile is blinding, even in the darkness, and his eyes flutter as stray tears drop off her cheeks and onto his face. It's the last thing he remembers before the darkness collects him.

* * *

When he wakes again he's in the great hall, laid out on a stretcher. Tonks is seated beside him on a bench, her head in her hands.

The last thing he remembers is being blasted of his feet by her spell, watching Greyback as he soared in the opposite direction in a heap of sprawling limbs. He remembers pain and darkness, but none of that seems to matter now. Not now that his initial concern has been settled: the condition of his wife.

He reaches out, surprised by how steady he feels, and his hand wraps around her ankle.

She looks up and before he's managed a smile she throws herself down on him, all her weight pressed against all of his. Her voice is pitched and raw, like she's been sobbing. "Merlin, you're awake. Poppy gave you a potion to bring you around but it was taking so long and . . . Merlin, you're okay."

His hands wrap around her as he feels the burn of tears against his neck. Her tears.

The muscles in Dora's back quake as she sobs against his chest, her fingers clawing that much harder into his skin where she's sought purchase.

He hushes her, his lips pressed into her hair, staring up at the ceiling: a muted, cloudless day by the looks of things.

"Is it over?" he asks.

She nods against his jacket and it's enough for now. There are more answers he needs, more questions that burn in his mind, but right now at this very moment he's content enough to know that his wife is alive, that he's survived, and when he finally brings himself to move, he'll get to take her home. Back to his son.

He holds her impossibly close and lets her cry because it brings them both a sort of release. It feels like the ending of something big, and the beginning of something even greater.

**\- the end -**

* * *

**A/N: Epilogue of sorts to follow soon :)**


	41. Chapter 41

**A/N: So, once upon a time there was an intended sequel to this story, but seeing as I am pressed for time I won't be able to flush it out the way I wanted. And although Voldemort was the greatest threat in the first story, I always though Greyback was maybe more intimidating because he was a personal demon that took an interest in Remus and his family. With that in mind, Greyback was intended to be the 'villain' of this second story. Unfortunately I only have bits and pieces of this second story written but instead of leaving it to wither away on my hard drive, I've tried to string them together the best I could to paint a picture of what this story was intended to be and what happens to the Lupin's after the final battle. Enjoy :)**

* * *

Remus gathers many things in the quiet moments of post-battle.

Harry survived. He's the reason so many others did.

The Dark Lord is dead as well as many of his followers, including Bellatrix.

Fred Weasley did not make it.

The collision of emotion in his chest—utter despair and overwhelming relief—make for a dizzying walk, but walk he does, arm around Dora.

They're both fit enough to stand. They don't need to be here, using resources. Poppy tries to convince them to stop by St. Mungos. Merlin knows there's nothing left of the Hospital Wing now—but Tonks says they're fine. The only thing they want is to get back to Teddy. Everything else will be dealt with later.

And it will be. Harry and Ron and Hermione. The Weasley's. Someone will make arrangements for Fred and they will be there to mourn with their friends. The Ministry will need help. Kingsley's just been appointed temporary Minister of Magic, though Remus knows it will be permanent by the end of the day. He will need Tonks. But not today. Not right now.

Right now they are going home.

* * *

Andromeda clings to Tonks like she's never going to let go and Remus has to pry the woman's fingers off his wife, only to have them wrap around his torso with such strength that they both collapse on the sofa while Tonks sweeps their son up, peppering his face with silent kisses.

Remus can see the tears gathering along her eyelids when she looks over and locks eyes with him. She manages a smile for him and he sighs. They're going to be alright.

After a series of hugs and cuddles and a pot of very strong tea, Remus and Tonks make their escape.

They tangle up in their bed and lie like that for hours, Teddy between them. It's only late afternoon but Tonk's has never felt more exhausted, more wrung out, physically, emotionally, like she can't focus on anything. The sound of Teddy's breathing, calm, content, and the blue of Remus' eyes are the only things she comprehends in the fading afternoon light.

Her family is alive. She is alive. Alive when so many are not and she's so thankful, she just doesn't know how to express it, how to quantify the feelings that are pulsing just beneath her skin, clawing for escape. How to express how terrified she was for the man across from her. How afraid she was of losing him.

But now she can reach out and touch him, his skin warm beneath her palm, his heartbeat strong.

But she doesn't touch him, afraid that the bubble she's in will break, this unimaginable peace they have amidst the devastation.

When the light is gone from the room Remus conjures blue flames from the end of his wand. They hover above the bed.

Teddy's still asleep, dreaming between his parents.

Remus rolls gently, standing and stretching before moving Teddy to the bassinet in the corner of the room; the crib in the nursery would be better but he can't bear to move him from the room, to be parted that far from his son again.

But he needs Dora, to hold her, feel her. And he can't with Teddy between them.

When he returns to the bed he traces the scratches against her skin, the scars on her ribs, the burns from spells that so narrowly missed her heart. "The battle did a number on you," he says. He bends down and kisses her ribs, taking care on each one, his lips mumbling any sort of healing charm he can conjure in the back of his throat.

Tonks feels the warmth of magic tingle against her skin and inhales sharply, her stomach bending against his touch. "I'm fine, love. Really."

"Let me, Dora," he says, gently, and his hand moves up to caress her face. "Please."

She leans into the touch and nods.

* * *

The next morning is pink along the horizon and the clouds shortly follow, dark and dusty, turned black; dawning fingers crawling across the sky.

Remus watches Tonks sleep for hours, not what feels like hours, but actual hours, where she breathes in and out and all he listens to is the sound of her breath.

* * *

"Fred's really gone, isn't he?" Tonks says when she wakes.

"Yes."

"Suppose we should see how they're all keeping then?"

"Yes." But Remus doesn't move. He just holds her.

"If you squeeze any tighter you might break me, Remus."

"If I don't squeeze tight enough I might crumble myself."

"I'll keep you together, love."

"I know."

* * *

Before Fred's funeral Remus returns to Hogwarts at Kingsley's request. There is work to be done. When the bodies of the dead are collected from the grounds and lined up along the entrance hall for loved ones to mourn and records to be taken, Remus scours the remains. There's one face missing from the dead. One body he's been looking for. Greyback.

"Do we have a registry of everyone that fell during the battle?" he asks Kingsley as they stand side by side, overseeing the work.

"I've had a department working on it all weekend. Is there a name in particular you're looking for?"

"Fenrir."

Kingsley gives a knowing nod. "He's a missing person as of right now."

"Missing?"

"No body, so we can't be sure of anything. Could have been crushed by giants or carried away by centaurs for all we know."

"Of course."

"Remus, if he's out there still we'll find him. And he'll pay like all the others. For his crimes."

"I know. Thank you Kingsley."

He nods, watching as the bodies are moved across the room. "So I assume you'll be looking for work now that the Order won't be keeping you busy."

"I suppose," Remus supplies, "though I don't think the battle will have changed the average Wizard's views on werewolf rights, especially considering Greyback has been the face of our population for the last couple years."

"Well, the Ministry thinks differently now."

"You mean you think differently," Remus says.

Kingsley shrugs, a grin splitting the face. "I am the Ministry. I can institute what I want. And I think it's high time we had an actual werewolf work Werewolf Liaisons. What do you think?"

"You want me to work for the Werewolf Liaisons department?"

"I want you to run it, Remus. There has to be change if there is ever going to be peace among the magical creatures again, especially after this. I'm thinking we establish safe change zones across Britain where we are able to house and treat werewolves, offer Wolfsbane if they want it."

"It would be a good time to start something like that," Remus muses. "With Greyback's fall the packs will be looking for direction. They may rise to the offer of help."

"Is that a yes then? You'll take the job?"

Remus finds himself smiling. "I'll talk to Dora about it."

Kingsley laughs, clapping him on the shoulder. "I'll expect you on Monday then."

* * *

Fred's funeral is a grand, though sad affair. Everyone is there.

There is food and even some laughter because it wouldn't be Fred without it. And fireworks because George insists.

Tonks and Remus sit at a table outside the Burrow, lined with food.

"So where is Harry off to so soon?" Tonks asks Remus. It's been a long day for everyone, least of all Teddy who's been passed around between his Godfather and all their friends.

"He's gone with Hermione and Ron to find her parents," Remus says.

"Hmm?"

"They're in Australia apparently. She obliviated them just in case."

"At seventeen?"

"She's the brightest witch of their generation."

"Good thing," Tonks says. "We'll need people like her now that―"

She trails off, but Remus catches her hand, bringing it to his lips. He knows what she's thinking. Now that so many of us are gone. Auror's and Healers and Wandmakers and Teachers and Students.

"They've closed Hogwarts for the duration of this year," Remus says. "Minerva's just told me. At least until the repairs can be made."

* * *

It only takes a couple months after the battle for order to begin to fall back in place, starting with the Ministry. It's how Tonks finds herself in Kingsley's office, sitting across from him as he stares at her over his folded hands, reminding her far too much of Dumbledore.

"Teddy's only three month's old, Kingsley. And the past year hasn't exactly been banner," she argues, not knowing what else to say.

"Tonks, I'm offering you head of the Auror department. That means you're the boss. Yell at people. Give orders. Stay in late with your son. Bring him to work."

"You mean push paperwork behind a desk?"

"Okay, so there's a little more of that, but the job's good. Secure. Perfect for a young family with two working parents."

Tonk's hums, staring out the charmed office window. It's a hurricane outside and the palm trees are swaying. "You really think I'm cut out for management?" she asks without meeting his gaze. "It wasn't all that long ago I was pulling coffee for you guys."

"You've proven yourself a lot since then, Tonks. You've gained years of experience in months. I'm taking Order work into consideration. You did a good job there. There was a reason we pulled you and not every other Auror in the department."

"I'll be giving orders to people twice my age, Kingsley. The place will fall apart around my ears."

"You're not going to let that happen," Kingsley answers with a smirk.

"I don't know, King."

"Tonks—"

"Can I have a few days to mull it over?"

* * *

"Kingsley offered me the Auror department today," she says to Remus over dinner.

Remus almost chokes on his chicken in his haste to congratulate her. But she doesn't look at him, her eyes fixed on Teddy's. They're changing colour again. Warm brown to sea blue. He's taken quite the liking to the ocean.

* * *

On the morning she is to start work, the sound of Tonks retching in the loo brings Remus out of sleep. It's barely dawn and the sea breeze is billowing in through the window.

"Big day," Remus says with a sympathetic smile, wetting a wash cloth and handing it to her. She takes it with her free hand, the other positioned in front of her mouth as she swallows the nausea. The nerves.

"It's going to be okay," he tells her.

"I can't manage an entire Auror Department. What was I thinking?"

"You wrangled me, didn't you?"

"Oh, yes. My mild mannered werewolf of a husband."

"Well, you were very persistent and persuasive."

"Stop saying things that start with 'p'. It's making me sick."

His chuckle is deep. "You're going to be brilliant."

She nods, but she doesn't feel brilliant. She feels sick. Absolutely panicked sick. He runs his hand over her shoulder, along her clammy skin and the hair at the base of her neck stands up, alert, responsive. She shivers and her stomach takes on an entirely new fluttering. How she could go from nauseous to lustful in a matter of seconds . . . whiplash emotions.

Her hormones must be out of whack.

She stands on shaky legs with his help, looking into the mirror. She looks exhausted. Like she did in those early months when she was pregnant with Teddy. When she was . . .

Oh, _bollocks_.

She clasps a hand to her forehead. "Remus what day is it?"

"The twenty-fourth."

"No." She was late. Almost two weeks. But with everything going on she hadn't even realized. Hadn't even thought. "Oh, Merlin," she says.

"What?"

"Get out!"

"What?"

"Out, Remus, I'm serious."

"Dora, I don't—"

She slams the door in his face and drops to her knees, rifling through the cabinet_. Please_, she thinks. _Please be here_. She finds it. The pregnancy potion. It's in a thin blue vile.

She sighs, tipping her head back, swallowing half the vial, as Remus calls out for her again, before standing and flopping down on the toilet. How did she do this again?

While she's waiting to see if the potion reacts she thinks back.

The night after the battle, everything had been so chaotic and hazy and they'd needed each other, needed to feel that closeness after coming so close to being apart. Forever. To losing everything. They hadn't been thinking. Not enough to consider protection. Neither of them had muttered a spell. She was sure of it, even thinking back through the fog.

"Dora!" Remus says again, banging on the door now. She can hear Teddy crying in the background. "Open the door, love. Please."

She stops biting her nails and looks to the counter. The potion has turned a brilliant white and her heart stops. When she opens the door Remus' face is a mix of relief and worry. He opens his mouth to speak but no words escape as he spies the potion in her hand.

"I'm pregnant," she says.

"You . . . we . . . but how?" he stutters, stumbling back towards the bed, his hands hooked around her waist, dragging her with him.

She laughs at that. "Remus, we've been through this once before. I think you know how."

He shakes his head, losing the daze. "I know how, I mean when? We were—"

"The battle. Right after. I didn't—"

"Me neither," he whispers, his head resting against her stomach. Against the smooth plane that will soon grow with their second child. "Merlin."

"We don't really have the best timing do we?"

Remus laughs. "No," he says. "No, this time it _is_ perfect."

And for several moments Tonks is completely stunned by his reaction, so different than the last time, and as it sinks in, as everything sinks in, she realizes that is the way it should be. Two working individuals, in love, navigating the world and the workplace and family. What better time would there be really? There was no war. No law trying to rip them apart.

Sure, there were still threats out there. Things the Ministry was trying to get a handle on, but there would always be things like that.

But when the biggest argument was whether or not they went to her Mum's or Molly's for dinner on the weekend, how terrible could it really be? She feels her cheeks heat at the thought, a warm calm settling over her. "It is perfect, isn't it?"

She runs her fingers through his hair and he kisses his way up her stomach, standing to reach her mouth.

"I think Teddy's falling back asleep," he says. "What time do you have to be in?"

"Not for another two hours."

* * *

Her legs are slightly wobbly as Remus kisses her just inside the entrance to the Ministry, promising to meet her for lunch. He had insisted on showing her just how happy he was about this news. And she had to admit, this was definitely starting out on a better note than their last pregnancy.

* * *

They spend a good amount of their free time at the Burrow because Arthur's always begging Tonks to come around for dinner at Molly requests.

Tonight Teddy's cooing at Ginny, who rubs circles into his chubby belly, laughing with Harry as the infant's hair turns a brilliant shade of turquoise.

"Well, we know who his favourite Weasley is," Remus says.

There's a tutting from the stove. "That's because he hasn't seen his Grandma Molly yet. Come Ginny, let me give him a squeeze."

Ginny gives Teddy up with a reluctant sigh. "Alright, but I call dibs after dinner."

"What about Quidditch?" Ron asks, his words slurred around a dinner roll. "I just dragged the brooms out of the shed."

"You and Hermione can get an early start. Merlin knows she needs it."

"Yeah, alright," Ron agrees, eyeing Teddy with suspicion, trying to understand what exactly it was about the tiny bundle of turquoise drool that renders the female population in the house helpless.

"Drinks," Molly shouts suddenly, and Teddy screeches happily in response. "What'll you have, dears?"

Remus accepts a fire whiskey from Arthur.

"Just water is fine for me, Molly," Tonks says.

"Really, dear?" Molly gives her a curious look and Tonks blushes, looking down where Remus has taken her hand.

"I feel a little under the weather today, actually. So I'll just stick with something simple for now."

Dinner starts as soon as Kingsley arrives. The Minister is never late.

And what smelled so good to Tonks moments ago, suddenly throws her stomach so violently that it's a wonder that she makes it to the bathroom at all, especially without upending any furniture.

"Excuse me," Remus says, wiping his mouth in a napkin and passing Teddy off to an expectant Ginny. He slips into the hall and around the first corner to the loo.

"Dora," he whispers.

The door opens to reveal his wife, rather paler then when she left the table.

"Ugh, why do they call it morning sickness if it never leaves?"

"Love, let me take you home."

"No, I'll be fine. Stay with Teddy. Visit. We've been so busy lately and everyone wants to see him."

"Dora—"

She places a hand on his arm. "Really, Remus, I'll be fine. I'm just going to curl up, make a tea."

"You're sure?"

"Positive."

"We won't stay long."

Tonks snorts at that. "Good luck wrestling our son away from Ginny."

"I'm more worried about Molly. I think she might just keep him."

"That's alright; soon we'll have a spare."

Remus grins at that, catching her in a hug. He kisses the top of her head and leads her to the fireplace.

"Tell everyone goodnight for me, will you?" she says, taking a generous handful of floo powder. "And that I'm sorry. Don't want Molly to think it was her cooking that turned me off."

"I will."

"See you soon, love." And as she spins out of sight, it's not their seaside cottage that comes into view but her mother's house, warmed by a cherry coloured lampshade.

"Dora!" Andromeda says, surprised as Tonks stumbles out of the fireplace, catching the maroon arm chair for support. "Tell me you've brought my grandson with you."

"Mum," she says instead and Andromeda freezes.

"Is everything okay?"

"Yeah, fine. Better, actually." She smiles a little wistfully. She wanted her mum to be the first person they told; not that Harry and the Weasley's and the rest of the Order weren't family.

"What's going on? Where's Remus?"

"With Teddy. They're fine," she says before her mum can ask.

"Well out with it, dear. You're just bursting. Before you give an old woman a heart attack."

"Remus and I are expecting!"

Andromeda nearly squeals. It's not quite because after all this time her mum still considers herself a lady and ladies most definitely do not squeal, do not jump up and down, but Tonks takes the tiny dance as a win anyway.

"Oh, come, dear," her mum says, clasping her hands together as the smile wraps around her face. "Tell me everything, I'll make some tea."

Tonks flops into the kitchen chair with a contented sigh. "I was hoping you'd say that."

* * *

She makes it home before Remus and Teddy but only just barely. She's pulling the duvet down when Remus' shadow fills the doorway to their bedroom.

"I just put Teddy down. He'll sleep till noon tomorrow. Ginny and Harry tuckered him right out."

"I might just sleep in, too," she yawns. "Glad Kingsley thought to start me on a Friday."

"A lie in does sound nice," Remus says, returning from the bathroom where he sheds his robes in favour of loose cotton pants and a white t-shirt.

They crawl into bed and his hand automatically finds her stomach. She lets him trace lazy patterns across it.

"So," Tonks asks. "Boy or girl this time?"

"Well, one of each would be nice, wouldn't it?"

"Yeah, I suppose."

"But imagine a house full of boys. All sticky and muddy and rough housing."

Tonks grins and rolls against his side. "You just want a house full of Marauders."

Remus laughs. "I suppose I do. Though I do recall your mother telling me about a certain young witch getting herself a handful of detentions, so I'm not sure any daughter of ours would fare much better."

"Hope not," Tonks says, "or we'll be bored in our old age."

* * *

A good amount of Tonks' time is spent organizing raids meant to bring in the last of the escaped Death Eaters. After the battle a good many of Voldemort's supporters turned themselves over in hopes of receiving reduced sentences.

But those that ran . . . those that got away, those are Tonks' missions now.

Remus has had his own mission. Through his role as werewolf liaison, he's been scouring the country for word of Greyback. She knows it's a thought that plagues his mind at night, what became of his former tormentor, and she wishes she could give him closure. Wishes she could close the file on his whereabouts, whether alive or dead, so that Remus could let that part of his past go.

But she can't.

And the longer it goes on, the more worn down Remus becomes.

For so many their nightmares ended the night Voldemort died.

But for Remus, not knowing where Greyback ended up keeps the nightmares alive.

* * *

"Have you been thinking about recruiting?" Kingsley asks her over one of their weekly meetings. She's almost seven months into her pregnancy and though she's already been balancing this job with Teddy, once the new baby is born she plans on taking some well-deserved time off with her family.

"I think we should ask Harry around," Tonks says. "And Ron and Hermione and Neville and any of the others that fought alongside the Order. I know they're young, but their instincts are good and well, frankly, if they want to join up, I think the Ministry would be lucky to have them."

"I agree," Kingsley says.

And Tonks falters, an argument on her tongue already. "You . . . you do?"

"Yes, I do, because you know who else's instincts are sound? Yours. Stop selling yourself short Tonks; you know how to run the department. You know what it needs."

* * *

The Greyback thing continues to be a worry at the back of Remus' mind and as such bleeds over into Tonks' work. She's started keeping tabs on rouge werewolf sightings and sending out Aurors to investigate on behalf of her department, if only to ease Remus' mind, but nothing turns up.

The longer this goes on the more she suspects that he died the night of the final battle.

That there will be no body to appease Remus.

She's approaching the end of her eighth month of pregnancy when she finds out she is terribly wrong.

"Drop it; you're wand! Don't think I won't use this."

Greyback steps into her office, closing the door behind him with a silent puff. He's gnarled and angry looking, struck by the harshness of poverty, worn down to the bare bones of the monster that he becomes once a month. Those yellow, hate-filled eyes are no less terrifying than the last time she saw him. As he points the tip of a black wand at her chest, lips drawn back over pointed teeth, Tonks puts one hand up in surrender, the other lowers her wand to the floor; she places it just out of his sightline and gives it a sharp little flick, watching the wood twist and pick up speed. It starts recording without him noticing.

Greyback's eyes flicker with something she can't read, but his mouth curls into a nasty grin. "Now you're going to Apparate us somewhere, and if you try anything funny I'll finish you. Then I'll find your son."

Tonks makes her voice clearer than she thinks she can, louder. "Where are we going?"

"There's a nice little Shack. Right up near Hogwarts. I'm sure you've heard of it."

* * *

She can feel the sharp prick of Greyback's nails against her neck as he forces her up the stairs of the Shrieking Shack. "You know," he says, voice bitter, "they planted that nice tree out there for him, schooled him up, got him a job. Nice pretty little wife to bed at night."

Tonks curls her shoulders up and wrenches away from him but his fingers tighten.

Then his other hand wraps around to claw over her stomach, groping at the bump, not as big with this pregnancy. "Another one, hmm? I've been watching your son, you know. Nice little lad. Teddy, right? He'll trade up like his father when he's bit."

Tonks can't hide the sharp inhale that twists through her throat and it makes him laugh.

"And when I'm done playing with you, you'll wish you were dead . . . but you know, if you survive the night, if I manage not to kill you, what an interesting experiment we'll have here." He runs a long nail down her throat. "If mother becomes a werewolf, what happens to baby?"

* * *

"I haven't seen her since this morning," Remus says to Kingsley, rubbing his hand over his face as they cut through the back halls of the Auror department. The moon's tonight and he's been home with Teddy, so naturally, when Tonks missed dinner, he assumed she'd gotten caught up at work. "I already went to check her office and it was empty. Andromeda says she hasn't heard from her either."

"Relax, I'll just check her desk, and—" Kingsley comes around the side of the desk, his boot sending Tonks' wand skidding. It jostles, like a spark to flame, still attempting to record.

He summons it with a flick of his wrist and glancing up at Remus, flips the wand to replay the scene in the office. Remus' heart stops completely.

"Is that—"

"Greyback." Remus nods. "He's taken her to the Shrieking Shack."

"Merlin."

* * *

They barge into the Shrieking Shack just as night is falling. Remus can feel his muscles twitch under his skin, but ignores the pain. If he's already feeling the effects of the moon then so is Greyback.

He rushes the stairs, Kingsley right behind him, hurtling up to the third floor where he can pick up voices, one of them Dora's.

He trails the landing to the third door, finding it locked. He blasts it open with a spell to find Dora hunched over on the floor, hands pulled tight behind her back.

She looks up at the noise, eyes wide with terror. "Remus," she cries. "Stop!"

But it's too late. Greyback has lunged and he barely has time to brace himself when he feels the room shudder. His eyes pop open a second later to see Greyback soaring backwards right before Kingsley pushes him out of the way.

Kingsley blasts Greyback back so hard with a spell that the floor collapses and they both go sliding down in a mess of wood to the second floor of the shack. Remus crosses the destruction, knocking away planks of wood with his wand, and pulls Dora up, swiping his wand to slice the bonds from her hands.

"Dora," he breathes, hands curling around her face. His fingers convulses even as he holds her, the pull of the moon strong. There's no time for this. He grabs her hand, feeling his nails recede under his skin, fighting the urge to cry out as he pulls Tonks into the hall and down the stairs.

Kingsley's shadow fills up the doorway on the second floor and Remus pushes Tonks towards him.

"Get her out of here, Kingsley," he growls, the words already almost a bark as he falls to his knees.

Tonks hasn't seen him transform for a long time. But the vision before her triggers the sense memory and her blood runs cold under her skin.

"Remus," she whispers.

"Go!" he cries as Greyback stirs behind them, the moon pulling him from unconsciousness.

Tonks screams as he pulls himself from the debris of the fall, yellow eyes focused into slits, but Kingsley simply nods and seals Remus and Greyback inside the room together. It won't be enough to hold them for long. Not once they fully transform.

"You can't," Tonks cries, flinging herself at the door. "You'll kill him."

"We can't risk Greyback escaping," Kingsley says. "He's too close to Hogsmeade. To the school. This is the only way."

Kingsley has to force her out of the Shrieking Shack.

They get as far as the laneway before Tonks turns around, the moon lighting up the sky. She can hear the howl of pain that pulls Remus through his transformation. She's learned that sound over the years. Then there's a second howl. Ripping. Tearing. Growling.

Tonks turns to Kingsley with tears in her eyes. "He'll die, Kinsley. Please."

Kingsley pulls her to him and she sobs into his robes. "I'm sorry, Tonks. There's nothing else we can do."

The fight inside goes on for ages and each moment brings Tonks closer to the ground. She finally collapses out of exhaustion and Kingsley sits next to her, holding her until the night dies off, until the growling fades, and the sun rises.

Her eyes are red and sore when the sun breaks the treeline. She's a wreck, but manages to stand and Kingsley lets her into the shack, whispering words of "Be careful."

Inside the foyer, waiting for her, is Remus.

Greyback is dead.

She rushes forward and catches him as he stumbles. He's a mess, but alive. He clings to her, going limp as Kingsley rushes to their side.

"Remus, can you hear me? It's okay, we've got you. Just hang on for me."

"Dora?" he croaks, eyes half-lidded, swollen and bruised almost black. "You're okay . . . and Greyback, he's—"

"You don't have to worry about him anymore, Remus. Never again."

He lies back, basking in the news that finally, the real bane of his existence as a werewolf, his creator, his condemner, is dead.

He blacks out then, succumbing to the white behind his eyes.

* * *

The room at St. Mungo's is small, but thankfully private so Tonks doesn't have to share the space with any other panicking wives.

She paces the room for hours, until her feet threaten to drop off. She feels all sorts of uncomfortable right now but pushes it aside, refusing the chair the Medi-witch brings her. When Remus' mouth finally quirks into a smile it stills her heart and she lets out a strangled sob.

He blinks sleepily until the last traces of fog have vacated and he's more alert now than ever. He holds out an arm to her.

She crawls up beside him, tucking herself into his side. It's a bit difficult, manoeuvring the belly, and trying to fit herself close, but he shifts, accommodating for her.

He presses a kiss to her temple, shifting her hair with his lips, and it's a long time before he pulls away—so long that she almost thinks he's sleeping again.

"I thought I lost you," he says.

"I thought I lost _you_." She returns the kiss.

"But we're both right here."

She winces as the throbbing discomfort begins again, low in her gut. She shifts her morph again, stretching, holding.

"Dora, what is it?"

"Nothing, love, just rest."

"No, it wasn't nothing . . . are you . . ." he startles when her hand automatically clenches at the base of her abdomen, ". . . have you been having contractions?"

"I was so worried about you this morning that I just ignored it when it started. It settled for a while."

"Dora how long has this been going on?"

"A few hours."

"You're in labour?"

"Maybe. It might just be a false alarm. From the stress." She hisses then, the breath caught in the back of her throat. "It's too early for him to be born, Remus."

"Dora, this isn't a false alarm."

The witch looking over Remus' chart gives Tonks an appraising look. "Come on, Missus; let's get you in a gown."

She's toted away buy a Healer's assistant before she can protest and when Remus sees her again it's only because someone thought to secure him from the recovery wing so he could be present at the birth of his second child.

He's much steadier on his feet now and even manages to send hourly updates to the Order. In fact, the sudden onset of the labour has pushed all thoughts of the previous night from his mind, focusing on the tight pinch in Dora's cheeks and the way her hand gropes at the bed, coaxing herself through another contraction. This labour is proving to be much different than Teddy's, this baby taking it slow.

He slides his hand in range of hers and for hours holds on as she fights through the crowning waves of pressure. He can feel the build-up and release of tension each time, the pressure on his hand coming and going along with these waves, and he makes use of his other hand by pushing the sweaty fringe of hair from Dora's face. It's turned a very muted brown colour, her eyes that warm chocolate brown to match. She's lost all her morph with the concentration that labour claims but seems to be handling her breathing better than with Teddy's labour.

At one point he catches her eyes and through the pain he sees intense relief. He presses a kiss to her knuckles just as another wave of contractions hit and an errant tear slips over her cheek.

* * *

Oliver Lyall Lupin is born at five fifty-five the next morning after a long, arduous labour. Visitors start arriving just after breakfast. The staff has pushed two beds together, one for Remus and one for Tonks; they sit shoulder to shoulder, their new son nestled between them.

"He's beautiful, Tonks," Ginny gushes. "Just like his brother." She's the first to demand a snuggle and no one argues.

"Small little thing," George says, poking at Oliver's fingers. "Maybe he'll play seeker."

The baby's passed back and forth until he inevitably ends up back with Remus.

"Any sign of the Metamorph in him?" Molly asks.

"Not yet."

"Can I hold him?" comes the deep drawl.

"Well hullo, Minister, fancy seeing a big hat like you down at little ole St. Mungo's," George teases.

Kingsley smiles for everyone's benefit before his expression turns serious. "Sorry I'm late; I was dealing with the clean-up at the Shrieking Shack seeing as our Auror department head was otherwise occupied."

"Kingsley," Tonks says, a lazy smile on her face as she tucks her head against Remus' shoulder, "we were hoping you'd be godfather?"

"I, uh?" Remus hands the baby off, tiny in Kingsley's giant hands. He stares down at the miniscule features, already a shadow of the two people he's come to call very good friends. "Well, little fella, you're gunna be a troublemaker, aren't you? I can just feel it."

"Is that a yes?" Tonks asks.

Kingsley nods. "How could I resist this little face?"

"It's that Marauder blood," George says. "Sorry, Remus, you're in for it now: two little whirlwinds."

* * *

Andromeda is the last to arrive, toting a squealing, thrashing Teddy, overwhelmed by the sight of both his parents. Like most ten-month olds with no concern for personal space or hidden injuries, he crawls himself into his father's arms when Andromeda deposits him on the bed, forcing a mangled cough from Remus before scrambling across the bed and into Tonks' waiting arms.

She hugs him close, cradling his head beneath her chin, and for several quiet moment's Teddy is content to lie in her embrace.

It takes him some time to comprehend the change in his mother again, the loss of the sudden swell of her stomach and then he eyes the new wailing presence in the corner that his grandmother is currently cooing at and his little nose wrinkles up inquiringly.

It makes them all laugh and Tonks rocks back and forth, overjoyed that her little family is all together again, both her sons happy and healthy. And Remus, a little bumped and bruised, but still hers: still not going anywhere but back to their quiet little corner of ocean.

* * *

They're home by noon, released from the hospital once the Healer was satisfied that Remus' ribs were healing up nicely (despite Teddy kneeing him in the chest twice) and that Tonks had taken enough of a potion to get her energy back up after the long night.

Remus looks over at Tonks as they pile inside the door.

His wife, still so very young and vibrant, but with a new wisdom that only life can give her, and his sons, both of them . . . healthy, happy―

"Remus, look, his hair!"

Remus looks at the sleeping child in her arms. Oliver's lips balk as he sleeps on, but his hair turns a funny kind of lime colour, almost neon, his eyes flashing yellow as they snap open at Teddy's indignant wail (he wants down) and Tonks laughs.

"Looks like a wrinkly little Grindylow, doesn't he?"

Remus watches as Teddy's hair turns a similar colour, not to be outdone by this new squirming addition to the family. He squeals then, determined to be louder than this new addition as well, and kicks out of Remus' arms, crawling off into the house, a wobbly, little blur of sea green.

"Best go catch him then," Tonks says, biting the inside of her cheek to keep from laughing. "He's probably hungry."

Remus chases Teddy through the house, catching him on his second round of the coffee table. He wrinkles up his face like his brother when Remus swoops him up, tiny teeth indeed making him look like a chubby version of a Grindylow, albeit a rather cute one.

As he sits them both down at the kitchen table, his heart swells at the normalcy, the potential for routine, of early mornings making tea and toast and evenings spent tucking sleepy children into bed. If this is his life now, free of Voldemort, free of Greyback . . . if he spends it _chasing Grindylows_ around coffee tables, then he can't help but feel that everything is just a little bit perfect.

And he's okay chasing this version of perfect.

Pink and lime green and whatever other colours eventually come to pass.

**―**_**FIN**_**―**

**A/N: So that feels like the end, but alas, there is one more chapter of outtakes that will take us several years into the future. And then that's the end. I promise.**


	42. Chapter 42

**CHASING GRINDYLOWS OUTTAKES: 1**

When Oliver turns two Tonks finds out she's expecting again.

She's terribly ill with this pregnancy and Remus fears that something has finally gone wrong and somehow his condition has been transferred to the baby. Tonks assures him that this is normal, but Remus knows better. He's sure of it and insists they go see a Healer. Immediately. Without question.

Tonks barely has time to swallow her porridge before he's whisking her away to St. Mungo's.

"The babies are fine," the Healer tells them and Remus nods emphatically, leaving Tonks to ask the obvious question.

"Babies?"

"Yes, dear, you're having twins. Didn't I mention that? Oh, bother. Well, congratulations."

"Dear, Merlin," Remus says, only just registering anything but the word fine. "Two you said?"

"Which explains the exaggerated symptoms," Tonks says, quite pleased with the answer. Remus looks like he's about to faint.

"Would you like to sit, Mr. Lupin?" the Healer asks, pulling out a chair as Remus collapses into it.

"But h―"

"Oh, for Merlin's sakes, Remus! If you say how, I'm going to hex you into tomorrow."

* * *

Liam James Lupin and Henry Sirius Lupin are born three minutes apart.

"Well you have your four Marauders now," Tonks says, leaning up to kiss him. "Go bug Harry for the map."

"I was thinking," Remus says, "that we should ask George to be godfather."

Tonks lets her lips linger on his before pulling away. "I think that's a great idea. For both?"

"Yes."

"Yes," she agrees.

**CHASING GRINDYLOWS OUTTAKES: 2**

"We'll need another room, Remus. It's a girl this time."

"How do you know?"

"I can just feel it." She's radiant and smiling, nowhere near as sick as she was for her previous pregnancies.

"Well, if it is a girl, the boys can bunk up."

"You want the four of them in one room? Do you know how long it will take to put them to bed?"

A look of worry smoothes across his brow. "We'll convert the attic," he says instead.

* * *

Charlotte Hope Lupin is born in the late evening. Ginny is godmother, naturally. They call her Charlie for short. ("Knew you were just holding out on me," Charlie had said in the hospital, holding his tiny little namesake. Tonks had laughed. "Yes, best for last and all that.")

She's a daddy's girl from the first moment Remus holds her, though really what else did Tonks expect? With so many boys running around, it was only to be expected that the first time Remus held his tiny, tiny daughter she would reduce him to a soppy, blubbering mess.

"She looks like you," he tells Dora, who is half asleep on the hospital bed.

"More like you, I think," she manages before she's out like a light.

Charlotte is an observant baby. Happy, content to watch her brother's rough house in the living room. She rarely cries and when she does, a quick colour change on Teddy's part is usually enough to distract her.

The boys give her a wide berth, not that they could get very close with their father patrolling her like he does.

It's the fourth day and Charlie hasn't shown any sign of being a Metamorphagus. This development stirs something funny in Remus' gut, though he knows very well that Liam and Henry are perfectly healthy little boys even though they don't take after their mother in that department.

Still, he can't help hold his breath the day after the next full moon as he stumbles back from the cellar to find his daughter in perfect form. Tonks gives him a knowing grin.

It's two weeks later that Remus and Tonks return to the Burrow after a series of Ministry meetings to find Ginny with their youngest. Harry meets them at the gate, a frantic expression on his face.

"Come on," he calls, ushering them inside. "Hurry up!"

"What is it, Harry?" Tonks asks, panic gripping her insides. She knew it was too soon to leave the baby. She holds her breath as she enters the living room to find Ginny humming to the baby.

"Oh, Harry, I told you not to make them wet themselves."

"I didn't."

"What is going on?" Remus asks, bewildered.

"It's pink," Ginny says, standing with Charlie. "Her hair. Been getting brighter all day."

Remus stares down in awe, and then looks to his wife. She's positively beaming.

**CHASING GRINDYLOWS OUTTAKES: 3 ****― Seventh Wedding Anniversary**

"Five children," Remus says. "We've been rather busy."

"We have," Tonks agrees.

He's kissing her senseless again, his lips at that spot behind her ear. "Is it . . . do you think . . ." He's drumming his wand against her thigh. "Should we?"

Tonks swallows, sobering with the absence of his lips. They haven't actively tried to prevent children since getting pregnant with Oliver. Not knowing they both wanted a family. But now, with Remus returning to Hogwarts to teach, he'll be away a lot during the day and some weekends.

"Is it something you still want?" he asks. "I mean, children? Do you want more children?"

"I'm happy, Remus. Perfectly content exactly the way we are now."

"Okay, then," he says, whispering the spell against her lips. "Five is a good number."

* * *

When they return from their vacation, the kids are still asleep. The sun is barely up, but the moon is in two days and Remus wants to spend the rest of his holiday with the kids.

Charlie is already awake though being toted around by Andromeda; she's dressed in a flamboyantly pretty, frilly, girly dress that threatens to swallow her whole. "Mum, really? What have you done to her?" Tonks asks, looking equally appalled and amused.

"Oh, leave me alone, Nymphadora. You never let me dress you in pretty things. Always mucking around in the backyard. Let me have this." She sits at the table with her tea, holding Charlie on her lap; Tonks watches as two little eyes squint and focus to match the pink dress with an equally pink head of hair.

**CHASING GRINDYLOWS OUTTAKES: 4 ****― Lupin Family Breakfast**

"Oh, Mum, Dad, come on, really?" Teddy says, covering his eyes and navigating his way to the table by smell. He's nine years old now and Harry's told him that Dragon Pox are caught by kissing. "We're trying to eat here."

His brothers soon join the table and Tonks has her hands full wrangling the jam jar away from sticky fingers. "Liam do not put your fingers in your brother's hair! Oliver sit down while you're eating, please. No, Henry love, you cannot play outside in your knickers."

Teddy butters his toast and hums the latest Weird Sister's hit: A Sky Full of Thestrals.

A pink haired, pig-tail wearing Charlie wanders in last, her eyes still blurry with sleep. She wraps her arms around Remus' legs and he pulls her up, one hand scrambling the eggs on the stove, the other holding her tight. "Morning, princess. Sleep alright?"

Charlie nods into his shirt.

**CHASING GRINDYLOWS OUTTAKES: 5**

"So, then would it be alright if I told my friends?" Teddy asks one day. Now that he's in school it's gotten around that his dad's the defence teacher.

"That I'm a werewolf?"

"Yeah."

"If that's what you want."

"Cool."

Teddy scrambles off his chair, whistling the family owl off its perch, and bolts for the stairs. Tonks appears in the doorway, dodging her eldest son and a pair of feathery wings. "Who needs Auror recertification when you have kids? Honestly. I think my reflexes are better now than they were before."

She stops by Remus, leaning her head against his arm. He's staring blankly at the stairs. "Remus?"

He's pointing with the spatula. "He, uh . . . Teddy that is, wants to―"

"I heard." She rubs a hand over his back. "Love, what is it?"

"I just, I never thought I'd have any of this. You. The kids. A family. I never thought it would be possible for . . . for someone like me. And you've always believed and I just . . ." He takes her face between his hands and kisses her, one of the breathless kinds of kisses that leave her dizzy and tingling. "Thank you," he breathes across her face, the words catching her lips. "Thank you for not giving up on me."

**CHASING GRINDYLOWS OUTTAKES: 6**

"She wants Teddy over for chess, Mum. Does that mean she's a boring tosser?"

"Charlie, where did you hear such language?"

"From Oli, mum."

"No it doesn't. One of the first few times your father and I were together we played chess." The memory makes her smile.

"And look how that turned out," Liam says. "We should induct him into the snogging club now."

"You can't induct him unless you're the president and you've never even snogged a girl, Liam," Henry says matter-of-factly, pushing his glasses up his nose.

"Mum, has Victoire owled today?" Teddy asks, barging into the kitchen for something to eat.

"Not yet."

"Oh, okay. Well if she does come get me, yeah?" He takes a sandwich off the counter and heads out again, sprinting the stairs two at a time, green hair set in a spiky mohawk.

"Sure." When he's out of ear shot she puts plates on the table and says, "I don't think you have to worry about your brother, boys."

"Yeah, he's too busy thinking about snogging Victoire," they snigger.

"Mum, if the boys are snogging girls, does that mean I have to start snogging boys?" Charlie asks reaching her short arms out for the butter.

Tonks smiles down at her daughter and taps her once on the nose. A voice answers before she has the chance.

"There will be no snogging boys now or for the rest of your lifetime is that understood, Charlotte Lupin?"

"Daddy," she says, jumping from the table and rushing into his arms.

"They're disgusting creatures with no morals," Remus tells her, squeezing his daughter to his chest before flipping her upside down. She giggles frantically and the sound makes Tonks grin.

"Well how'd Mum end up with you then?" Oliver asks, his smile wry.

"He was already a man when I found him," Tonks says, reaching up to meet Remus' lips.

The boys sigh. "Sure, sure."

* * *

"Is she really going to want to start snogging boys soon?"

"Remus, she's nine."

"I know but . . . when did you start to fancy boys?"

"I don't know. I was too interested in Quidditch and skiving detention to care. You were the first man to really ever throw me. Mum thought I was gonna be an old maid."

"But really, what are we talking about here? Fourteen. Fifteen."

"Well, I was twelve when I decided Nixon Hapley had nice hair."

"Oh, dear Merlin."

"You weren't this concerned about the boys."

"Because they're boys. They're . . . well, I'll just be grateful if they each end up with a nice girl. But Charlie. Nope, no boys."

"We can't really stop it, darling. She'll be off at school soon."

"She's not going. We'll keep her locked up here forever."

"Forever?"

"At least until she's thirty."

"Really?"

"Yes really." He kisses her twice: once on the cheek and once on the head, burying his face in her hair.

"Did you talk to Bill today?" Tonks asks him after a moment. Remus is tracing circles against her arm.

"Yes. He says Victorie's been talking about Teddy non-stop."

"That's sweet."

"Yes, I'm going to give him the talk I think."

"The talk?"

"Yes, you know, the manners and marriage and I don't want to be a grandfather talk. I'm going to encourage waiting until marriage."

Tonks rolls onto her side, chin landing on his chest. He weaves his fingers back through her hair. "We didn't wait until marriage."

"It was close enough. And we weren't both fifteen."

"Kids will do want they want. Maybe we should just teach him how to be safe. Responsible."

Remus' eyes widen. "You want me to teach our son the contraceptive charm?"

"Do you want to build the crib, or should I?"

* * *

"Mum. I'm completely mortified. Why Merlin? Kill me. Just kill me. I'm going to Uncle Harry's."

Tonks watches Teddy stomp towards the fire and disappear in a green Floo cloud.

"What did you do to him?" she asks when Remus enters, looking considerably pale.

"I think this is the sort of thing you're supposed to learn from your friends."

"Who taught you?"

"Sirius. He sat us all down in the common room one night and had a nice chat."

She laughs. "Of course he did. Well, Harry will straighten him out."

"And who will straighten me out?"

Tonks wraps her arms around his waist, peering up at him through her lashes. "Was it as terrible for you?"

"Well yes, see I said: Teddy, this is the charm I use when your mother and I, er . . . you know . . . or else you and Oli and well, the rest of you sort of happen."

Tonks chokes on her laugh.

"I'm glad to know this is right funny for you, Nymphadora. Just you wait until Charlie comes of age."

"I thought she was waiting till she's thirty."

"Right."

"Well darling, at least this way you can be hopeful that Teddy will just pass the message down the line. You won't have to talk to the rest of the boys if he does." She's still chuckling at him.

"Stop it."

"I'm sorry, love; you look right terrible."

"Dora, stop it."

She's giggling and he's laughing now too and then he's pressing her up against the counter. Lifting her up to reach her face better and her hands are threading into his hair, tugging insistently.

"The kids," she gasps when his lips leave hers and attach to her neck, the back of the cupboard door braced against her shoulders.

"Have all gone to Harry's; sent them along earlier. I wasn't going to have the others eavesdropping on that conversation."

"Thank Merlin for Harry," Tonks says. "Now, Professor Lupin, how about you show me what exactly you taught our son today?"

**CHASING GRINDYLOWS OUTTAKES: 7**

"Daddy, what is it?"

"A Grindylow. Fascinating creatures, really. They track their prey through the water and never give up the hunt." He pounces and catches her tiny waist, pulling Charlie into his arms. She squeals and he walks them up the stairs. "Bedtime for young Grindylow hunters."

"Story," she demands as he tucks her into bed.

"A story, hmm?" He settles on the edge of her bed, watching her sleepy eyes blink. "Well once upon a time there was a sad, lonely werewolf and then one day he met a beautiful princess with pink hair and they—"

"Lived happily ever after?"

Remus turns to find his wife in the doorway. She crosses the room towards him and he kisses her, running his fingers through her pink hair. He pulls away to find her beaming smile. "Yes, I'd say that sounds just about right."

**A/N: So that's the end, for real this time. I'm going to miss writing in this universe, but I did what I set out to do and that was to give Remus and Tonks a happily ever after. So yay! As always I love to hear what you think. :)**


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